


Madness & Demons

by afogocado



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Angst, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Marauders' Era, Not Canon Compliant, Romance, Slow Burn, Time Turner
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-30
Packaged: 2018-08-08 15:53:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7763902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afogocado/pseuds/afogocado
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Miss Granger," Severus's silky voice purred low in his chest. "We are all waiting for someone to rescue us from whatever reality we’ve become ensnared in. You are drowning and you wish me to pull you out by the scruff of your neck and breathe life into your throat, into your lungs, again.” </p><p>AU in that only two horcruxes have been destroyed and Voldemort is still with power by the time Hermione finishes her 7th year.  She is tasked by Dumbledore to go back in time to the First Wizarding War and acquire information before it is Obliviated from people he has interrogated. She also must stick close to Severus Snape, much to the young Potions Master’s chagrin--he is constantly running into this new, insufferable know-it-all who has taken up his coveted Defense Against the Dark Arts post for the 1980-81 academic year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Task

**Author's Note:**

> This first bit is exposition and exists to give the reader a background as to why she has been sent back in time. This will eventually be SSHG goodness, but there must be angst and a slow burn in order for me to truly enjoy this pairing. Slight HGRL for a minute. 
> 
> Disclaimer: All things recognized belong to J.K Rowling and I am making no money or anything off of this. 
> 
> Title is derived from the two songs that inspired this story: 'Madness' by Muse and 'Demons' by Imagine Dragons.

~~~

“What I have been attempting to understand, Miss Granger, is why you have decided to keep it.”

 

Silence fell upon the Headmaster’s office. Even the strange, mechanical objects humming and whirring about in their bronze and crystal cases ceased as though listening to this conversation.

 

“I-I’m sorry, Professor.” Hermione Granger stammered. She wasn’t sure if it was an apology or if she was asking him to repeat himself.

 

“What is it that you were hoping to achieve?” Dumbledore went on, as though she hadn’t spoken. His hands were folded together under his nose and he was peering at her over his fingertips. His blue eyes were enflamed.

 

The room was stifled, sans Fawkes’ minute chirruping from his stand near the Headmaster’s desk.

 

Hermione felt her hands folding over and over themselves all on their own, reaching for something to ground her. They shifted in her lap slightly, as though wishing to raise and tug at the chain wrapped around her neck and touch what hung from the bottom of it, beneath her robes. The object that this conversation was based upon.

 

“Miss Granger, you know as well as I—perhaps better than I—that _supposedly_ all the Time Turners were destroyed in the Battle of the Department of Mysteries not even two years ago. Several Unspeakables have attempted to account for just how many were destroyed and they keep coming up short one number. They have surmised that there has been a miscount and have chalked it up to every one of the devices being lost to time, so to speak. However, I have documentation indicating that the one assigned to Hogwarts was returned to the school, but not to the Ministry.” He smirked. “Curious, no?”

 

“Oh.” Hermione didn’t know what else to say. She knew that the blush creeping up her cheeks and inflaming her face and ears would soon betray her.

 

“Professor McGonagall has confided in me that you returned the device to her in your third year, however, she seems to believe that she has lost track of its status shortly before the start of this academic year.”

 

“Professor Dumbledore,” Hermione blurted out, unable to listen to him any longer. Portraits of past headmasters and headmistresses no longer pretended to sleep and instead leaned forward (if at all possible) in their frames. She was sure Fawkes and even the mechanical objects were listening closely. “It was never my desire to steal from Professor McGonagall, honestly. You are aware that I have nothing but the utmost respect for her.”

 

Dumbledore has not moved and continued to pierce through her gaze.

 

She dropped her eyes to her hands still fighting in her lap. “I had been in the professor’s office earlier that day—the day before we went to the Department of Mysteries—inquiring about when our O.W.L.S would be sent to us during the summer.” She was aware that she must be babbling at this point with how rapidly she was speaking. Her mouth and throat were unbearably dry. “I noticed the Time Turner still in its case in the corner of her bookshelf, collecting dust. I nicked it after the Battle at the Ministry. I knew the others were destroyed. I remembered how pertinent it was to the success of saving Sirius Black two years previously. I knew that this device would be a most valuable asset to our side should we need more time. I—I thought about using it to go back to before the battle. To save Sirius. To stop the destruction that occurred. But every time I thought about it, I could not devise a plan that seemed to work without confiding in Professor McGonagall or yourself. I did not wish to do that, because then you would know I had it in my possession.” She looked down at her lap.

 

Dumbledore sat back in his chair and seemed to relax. “Miss Granger, your intent on this matter is nothing but noble. It is apparent that you had the Greater Good in mind when you decided to bring the Time Turner into your possession once more. And it was a good thing, I may add.” Her head snapped up and she fixed her gaze intently on him. His eyes began to twinkle at this point. He continued, “I have devised a plan that will be entirely useful to the tool around your neck. I have been in search of this Time Turner for ages. If only you said something sooner!” This last bit was said almost ruefully and Hermione bowed her head once more.

 

Hermione said nothing. Was she in trouble? She had already taken her N.E.W.T.s and she would soon be graduated and gone from Hogwarts forever. Surely she could simply return the Time Turner to Dumbledore now and he could use it for whatever mission he has crafted and she could go on with her now adult life, hopefully without may points taken from Gryffindor during her final moments at school.

 

“I would like for you to use your Time Turner to go back to the First Wizarding War, one year or so before the Potters’ murders.”

 

Hermione gaped at him. He could not be serious. Had he fashioned this mission specifically for her? _Why her?_

“Ah, silence.” Dumbledore chuckled to himself. “You are neither denying nor consenting to my proposal.”

 

“Excuse me, sir, but I’m not sure I understand. You wish for me to go back and prevent Harry’s parents from being murdered? Clearly you are the more apt and appropriate wizard for the occasion.”

 

Dumbledore smiled gently at her and placed his hands, palm down upon his desk. “No, Miss Granger, I wish for you to go back. I am needed here. You are the only member of the Order—sans perhaps Remus Lupin—who would have a viable excuse to be gone and unreachable for an extended period of time.”

 

_An excuse?_

 

Her parents. Of course. She’d sent them away so long ago. She ached with longing to see them again and the wizened old man in front of her suggesting she use them as a ploy to further another one of his plots along made her chest tighten and ache for her mother and father. How she _missed_ them. It was sickening to her that they were unable to miss her in turn.

 

It was suggested to Hermione before the start of her seventh year that she send them away—Voldemort and the Death Eaters had already targeted too many Muggleborns and their families. Dumbledore and the Order were sure her parents could be targeted any moment—it was widely known by the dark side how close she was to Harry Potter and they were hell-bent to have him suffer by watching his loved ones suffer. It was also suggested to her that if after some time the attacks decreased, they could perhaps attempt to bring her parents back at the end of her seventh year.

 

“You,” Dumbledore said, breaking her out of her reverie while stroking his beard thoughtfully, “are to notify everyone that you are going on a journey to retrieve your parents and help them assimilate to home once more.”

 

“Isn’t there someone else you can send?” She asked desperately, aware of the waver in her voice that she didn’t even attempt to swallow back before speaking to him. Her fingernails were now clawing into the soft skin of her hands.

 

“I’m afraid not. As I’ve stated, and as I’m sure you’ve surmised, the only Order member able to take on this task would be Remus Lupin with his current lack of responsibilities and commitments. However, it would be impossible and disastrous to send him back to be in constant contact with his past self. No, it is entirely desirable that someone who did not even exist at the time be sent back.”

 

It made so much sense. It was as though she were destined for this task. She swallowed hard, biting back all cowardice. She dropped her hands to her sides and lifted her chin as if in defiance. “What is my mission, sir?”

 

Dumbledore leaned forward once more. “I need you to somehow become involved with one of the two sides of the war. The choice is yours. Consider whichever one you feel would give you the most information. You may also choose the one that feels the safest to you. _Or,_ whichever one you feel would be the easiest to infiltrate knowing all you do now about both sides.”

 

“You want me to choose to join up with the first Order of the Phoenix or the Death Eaters. However could you think I’d choose the latter?” She felt herself flush and knew her face was as red as she was angry.

 

Dumbledore’s eyebrow quirked and waved his hand lazily. “Severus is a Death Eater now.”

 

“He is noble and honorable—he does not count. And besides. We are not the same person.” Then she added as an afterthought, “Sir.”

 

“Regardless, Miss Granger,” he held his palm out to her as if to show how courteous he was being. “I need you to infiltrate one of these groups and do whatever you can to retrieve any information concerning Lord Voldemort. If you choose to go with the Order—”

 

“Which I will,” she said under her breath.

 

“—I ask that you apply for whatever open position at Hogwarts that is available that academic year so that you will be in close confides with other Order members, Severus, specifically. Although, he will still be a full-blown Death Eater at the time you meet him. I then ask you to become his confidante and see if he has any early memories of Voldemort that the Dark Lord may have Obliviated from him before I had the chance to perform Legilimency deeply upon our dear Potions Master.”

 

“And what makes you think that Professor Snape would so willingly open up to a complete stranger?” Hermione knew she would be no match for the accomplished Legilimens.

 

“Because he will be entirely vulnerable. This will be around the time that Harry’s mother has married his father and she will soon become pregnant with Harry. Severus will be rife with guilt and regret. This is also where he becomes entirely unhappy with serving the Dark Lord. He will pledge allegiance to me less than a year from the time you meet him. Please note, Miss Granger, that I am not asking you to intervene with the fate of Harry’s parents, nor to tamper with the past in any way that is unnecessary. I am asking you to receive information and then come straight back when you believe you have what I—you need. The further back you go in time, the more dangerous it is to stay for very long. I’d like you to spend no more than a school year there.”

 

Hermione had a million questions, but she could only address the latter part of his speech. “Why is it dangerous to stay for long periods of time?”

 

“I am not entirely sure. I believe only those who could truly be certain about that would be the Unspeakables who worked exclusively in the Time Room.”

 

Hermione knew that he was lying to her, but she pressed onward, clinging to the small amount of Gryffindor courage that she had been awarded at the moment. “What do you need me to do?”

 

Dumbledore held up his hand, his palm facing himself this time, showing her a ring on the blackened hand she hadn’t noticed. “I need you to find out what the five other horcruxes that Tom Riddle created are, and where he hid them years ago."


	2. The Potions Master

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hermione settles in 1980 Hogwarts and has a totally cheerful encounter with a 20-year-old Snape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should pick up now that the beginning is out of the way. Beginnings are always difficult. Ah, well. 
> 
> Disclaimer: Again, anything recognizable is J.K Rowling's and I am not making money off of this.

~~~

 

Hermione clutched the fat envelopes in her left hand, pressed into her lap. All of them were addressed to Professor Dumbledore, from his future self.

 

“You will need copies of your own,” he explained, waving his wand so as to make duplicates for her. “If I know the members of the original Order of the Phoenix, most will be hasty and untrusting at first. They will not remember you from school. These are your school records and transcripts with adjusted dates. You shall show these to them so that they may see you are a bit younger than they are and they will surmise that they just did not mix with you or remember you.”

 

“Yes, sir. But, how can I be sure that anyone will believe me? If Sirius and Harry’s dad are anything like Harry and Ron…What about at Hogwarts? How will I secure a position?” Hermione was beginning to think that this wouldn’t work.

 

“I have bewitched the ink on the original copies that you shall give to my past self. I have carefully composed a letter to myself, ensuring that I will understand what needs to be done. I will then call a staff meeting and request everyone review your credentials and papers and they too shall be bewitched by the ink on the pages. Should any member of the staff need to refer to the other documentation you have provided, they will remember you as they knew you in school currently. They will know you as though you have only recently graduated in the spring of 1980. I have adjusted all professors’ names on your transcripts so that they matched who instructed the courses in terms that are reflected on your papers.”

 

So, it _could_ work.

 

“But,” Hermione had one last protest about something she was almost certain that Dumbledore hadn’t considered. “The Defense post is cursed. Who taught it the year that I will be taking over?”

 

“Ah, yes, of course. Miss Granger, you know from your own time at the school that I have always struggled finding a suitable individual to take that post and that for whatever reason, no one has been able to stay longer than a year.”

 

Hermione sighed in order to stifle a groan of impatience.

 

“Shortly before the start of the term you will be instructing, I wrote to the Ministry and asked Madam Amelia Bones for her assistance in the situation. She was going to take a sabbatical from her duties at the Ministry for that year anyway and was more than happy to help the school in need. She was Head Girl in her day, as well, and her duty to the school was always unwavering. I will be sending you back early enough to where I will need not send correspondence to her on this matter.”

 

“Sir, this plan—”

 

“Is almost foolproof. Certainly. _But only if you do not interact with or adjust events so drastically that it corrupts time as we know it._ ”

 

Hermione gulped and nodded. She stuffed her own copies of the materials he had given her into her satchel. Her sweat-slicked palms clutched the original copies as he told her how many times to turn the device around her neck as well as instructions of where to go first.

 

~~~

 

The blurred images and movements of passing through time encircled her, keeping her rooted in her standing position off in the furthest corner of the headmaster’s office. Her first worry when it all stopped concerned whether or not she’d gone back far enough. If she hadn’t, she had no clue as to how many more turns to give the Turner. She also was unsure of how many to turn forward to get back to her time. Her fingers, usually nimble, fumbled and stuttered over the turning mechanism and her breath caught in her throat as she felt herself losing track of the turns.

 

When everything stilled, she found herself in an office equally as silent as the one from her time. It didn’t differ much from the future; it still held so many unknown and unnamed contraptions. They were as still and silent—listening—as they were earlier…or later.

 

She tiptoed through the cavernous room, looking for any sign that she had not failed to get back to where (when) she needed to be. She peered into his rubbish bin for any sign of a copy of the Daily Prophet. She reached in with still trembling hands and plucked one out and read the date: 18th July, 1980. She allowed the deep breath she’d kept shut up tight out in wavering sighs.

 

_This doesn’t mean anything, you know._ A tickling voice in the back of her mind told her. _This could be a printing from_ ages _ago._

Hermione shook her head, trying to run that voice away from her mind. _No, the house elves wouldn’t leave his bin full of old rubbish for this long. They probably clean his office several times a week._

“Hello? Who are you?” A wizened voice asked from behind her. It was full of mirth and amusement.

 

Hermione whipped around, wide-eye, and clutching the stack of envelopes to her chest. “I—er—that is…hello.” She finally huffed out. Her adrenaline was surging. She took a step closer to the taller, older man dressed in flamboyant turquoise robes. “I’m Hermione Granger. You’ve appointed me to a post.”

 

He cocked his head to the side. “Have I really? Surely not the Defense Against the Dark Arts post. I’ve had a candidate in mind for a little while now.”

“I assure you, you have given it to me.” With a less shaky hand, she extended her arm and all but shoved the envelopes into his chest.

 

His long, thin fingers extracted them from her grasp and he looked at them, peering over his half-moon spectacles to do so. “Ah, I see. Give me a moment.”

 

He opened the first, thicker envelope, and sped through reading it. “My apologies, Miss Granger. End of the year madness, you know. It must have slipped my mind. How could I have forgotten that the brightest witch of her year with an unmatchable and unprecedented amount of N.E.W.T.s has been awarded a professing position at so young an age?”

 

Hermione chuckled nervously. It was all she could do without bursting out in loud laughter.

 

Dumbledore hummed appreciatively. “Hm. Well, yes, I see in the terms of your contract here that you are to be set up with rooms and an office for the remainder of the summer and that your contract shall end in June of the following year. To…” he turns to the next hand-written page, “pursue studies abroad before returning and finding work at the Ministry or in Healing?” He peered over to her after this note.

 

“Y-yes. Whatever comes to mind first.”

 

He continued without acknowledging what she said. “Excellent marks, of course,” he thumbed through the rest of the papers after damping the tip of his finger with his tongue. “I shall of course pass this along to the rest of the staff, should you see that appropriate?”

 

“Yes, sir.”

 

“Excellent.”

 

~~~

 

Hermione’s rooms were very private and on the fourth floor, tucked away down a corridor that no students really had business going down—there were no nearby classrooms or restrooms. Her office and study was the immediate room beyond the door. There was a large, bare dark oak desk in front of a massive fireplace that took up the majority of wall space. There was a deep purple leather couch adjacent to the desk and fireplace as well as several squashy armchairs that reminded her of the ones from Gryffindor Tower. Bookshelves lined the walls, excluding near the fireplace, and they were already bursting full of texts and tomes about Defense Against the Dark Arts. She worried that she would need more space for books, as she would be buying her own, not to mention the ones she would borrow from the library. Plants and succulents were mixed in with the books and upon the desk. Some lined the fireplace’s mantle. Above the mantle hung a Gryffindor banner.

 

Her bedroom was to the left of the desk. There was a chest of drawers near the only window (albeit, large window) that looked towards the lake. There walls had built-in bookshelves, all of which were empty and she was immediately pleased. A four-poster bed draped in scarlet sheets and comforter stood in the middle of the room. There was a smaller fireplace to the right of the window. Near the fireplace was another door that led to a small, but comfortable enough bathroom.

 

She threw herself down on her bed and draped an arm over her eyes. She exhaled deeply. What a day. She sunk into the mattress and immediately felt drowsiness take over until her stomach grumbled. Dumbledore told her that supper was served around 6:30 and that most of the staff usually dined in their rooms, calling n house elves, whenever school was not in session. However, if she wanted to dine in the Great Hall, she was welcome to do that, as well.

 

Hermione feared that if she stayed in her rooms any longer that she would be enticed to fall asleep and neglect food. She hadn’t eaten at all this day—she knew skipping any meals for the day entirely wouldn’t be good. Perhaps taking one of the DADA books with her would get her in a thinking and more energetic mode. She forced herself to a sitting position and picked a book from her office-study and then fell into autopilot as her feet led her to the first floor and into the Great Hall.

 

The floating candles were in abundance and a storm was playing in the enchanted ceiling. A few ghosts were sitting with the Fat Friar at the Hufflepuff table. The Bloody Baron was floating lethargically around until he passed her to go through a wall. There was stillness and silence without students, or anyone else for that matter.

 

A warm ball of nerves bundled up in the pit of her stomach. This would be the first time she ever sat at the Head Table. Where was she supposed to sit? The center chair was for the Headmaster. She wracked her brain to recall where her professors sat, wondering if there was some kind of assigned seating. Surely not, and of course no one would say anything to her about it since the term hadn’t even started.

 

She automatically walked towards the right of the table and sat close to the end. As soon as she lifted the napkin from underneath her utensils, her plate magicked a meal for her. Her goblet filled with pumpkin juice. She tucked in, closing her eyes when she took the first bite. No matter whose cooking she had, nothing ever compared to the food the house elves made. She didn’t know if that was because of the affinity she had for them, or if it was just comforting to be here again. She opened her eyes and looked down at her textbook, opening it and reading through the table of contents.

 

“That’s my seat,” a low voice said from behind her.

 

She sputtered pumpkin juice over her front before whipping around. “I’m sorry, I-I—” but her words failed her because looming over her from behind was twenty-year-old Severus Snape.

 

His face was smooth and would be considered slightly boyish had he not been wearing a scowl all his life, already brining on lines etched into his face. There were dark bags under his eyes. His raven hair, though not as long as Hermione could remember it from her time, attempted to hang in curtains around his face. It was clearly unwashed. So unwashed and greasy that it looked as though it were damp. His black eyes bore into her amber-brown ones and his mouth tipped up in a smirk while she took too long to complete her statement.

 

He was as fully dressed and layered exactly as she remembered, buttoned completely up to his neck and down to his wrists. His arms were crossed over his chest, shoulders hunched slightly. She didn’t remember him seeming this tall. She went to stand, to properly face him, sending her utensils clattering onto the floor.

 

“I’m—”

 

“Miss Granger, I know.” His deep, sensuous voice made him seem much older than he was at the moment. It was the voice of a grown man, not someone just finished with being a teenager. “This is my seat you are sitting in,” he repeated. “I claimed it last week.”

 

“Oh. Well. I thought that. Tonight would be fine, you know? Nobody is here.” She drew herself up to her full height.

 

He quirked an eyebrow and looked at her appraisingly. He uncrossed his arms. “You took the Defense post.” He spoke quietly, but with venom.

 

“Yes.”

 

“And you are the youngest staff member ever hired so far.”

 

“Yes. Probably since Professor Dumbledore started, I think he said.”

 

“Dumbledore is a fool. He has hired a child barely out of Hogwarts to teach one of the most important courses this school has to offer.” He stepped forward, gripping the right side of the chair’s back with imperious and long fingers. The white of his undershirt sleeve barely poked out from under his black frock coat.

 

She flushed and grabbed the other end of the chair’s back, “I am eighteen.”

 

“Oh, I see. Miss Granger is a full-fledged woman, _fully_ capable and—”

 

“Brightest witch of the age is what they call me.”

 

He blanched.

 

“And what are you? Rudest wizard of the century?”

There was a low _ooh_ from across the room as the ghosts at the Hufflepuff table averted their gaze from the professors’ conversation and cleared out.

 

He dropped his hand from gripping the chair. “Professor Severus Snape. Potions Master.” He did not raise his hand to shake hers, but she let that go. It was going to be impossible getting to know him on any level that did not include animosity and insults. He looked down at her, up and down. “Soon, we shall see how you fare.”

 

“And we shall see how _you_ fare,” she retorted hotly. “The first of September will be _your_ first day, as well. Let’s see you do Horace Slughorn proud.”

 

Snape gripped the chair again, pressing a knee into the cushion to level with her and get into her face. He was glowering at her now, his black eyes burning like coal in front of her. “Slughorn is an imbecile. His professing skills were less than lackluster. He was far more concerned with his little popularity contests that the exact science and true art that is potion making.”

 

Hermione’s eyes trailed from his face, down his arm, and to his right hand gripping the back of the chair and his fingers wrapped around it. She looked back into his face and found his expression less hard, but now unreadable.

 

“I have read your records, Miss Granger. Insufferable know-it-all such as yourself. I’m sure Slughorn’s had you collected since first year. Well, you shall not receive the same fawning-over-you and your _Gryffindor greatness_ from me.”

 

“I never asked you to,” she said through clenched teeth, nails digging into her skin. She turned her head to see if they were quite alone in the hall, and they were. “Just because you weren’t a favorite of somebody’s and just because you missed out on the post for my teaching appointment doesn’t mean you have the right to treat me like rubbish.”

 

Snape withdrew from the chair, brushing at his knee that had dug and indention into the chair’s cushion. “See you at the Welcoming Feast. I trust you now know where to _not_ sit.”

 

He turned on his heel and went to exit the Great Hall, his robes billowing behind him.

 

_You_ impossible _man,_ she thought to herself. _It very well may take this whole year to become his_ confidant.

 

 

 

 


	3. The Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Severus finds an old friend who relays disturbing and dangerous information about the Dark Lord. Hermione listens in. James and Sirius snatch Hermione up in the dead of night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always thought that Severus and Regulus would have been friends. I fancied them to be as close as James and Sirius were. Well. However close Severus would allow himself to get to someone. I really wanted to bring Regulus into this story since a bulk of it deals with Horcruxes.

~~~

The Welcoming Feast was a pain in the ass, as usual. Severus Snape knew that it would be. It was just as bad as Snape remembered when he was a student there, except he no longer had acquaintances he didn’t entirely loathe surrounding himself with so as to ignore everyone else at the feast. That Miss Granger forgot what he told her about the seating arrangement and in defiance, took his place, which was next to Minerva McGonagall, who Granger did not stop nattering on with throughout the entire feast. This left Snape wedged between Flitwick and Trelawney, the latter of which would not stop staring at him and muttering predictions about betrayal and faulty loyalties. He ate nothing the entire night, looking forward to the bottle of Odgens he had stored in a cabinet somewhere in his study.

 

Once the feast was over, Snape stomped his way to the dungeons, his black cloak billowing behind him far more imperiously than it did when he was a student storming to the Slytherin common room. His wand was gripped tightly in his right hand, as though he were about to snap it or hex someone else, whatever came first.

 

Silly, impudent, little girl, he thought, gritting his teeth. The cool, damp dungeons did nothing to slack the feverish anger that had swept over him following his encounter with the Gryffindor princess. They all think they’re royalty. I’ll bet my golden scales she’s exactly like Black and Potter.

 

When Snape reached his office and rooms, the hair on the back of his neck stiffened. There was magic in this room, and not his own. He held his wand aloft, neglecting to ward, enchant, and lock his door once more. He crept forward, trying to catch any shifting or looming shadows that the fire blazing in the ancient fireplace may have thrown against walls or the stone floor.

 

“Someone is in here,” he said icily, wanting to be heard. “Show yourself, or I shall curse you.” His feet took him from his office and into his study and rooms, which were cast in silence and darkness. “Lumos maxima.”

 

Two figures were lumped together in the corner of his room, not far from his four-poster bed. One was rather small and bent over the other, which lay in a clumsy and unmoving heap. The one on his floor was human. The one hunched over the human and wringing its hands was not. Snape flung his wand arm out at it silently.

 

“Kreacher.” It was not a greeting.

 

The house elf flinched as he turned his head to take in Snape’s looming height. He shuffled over to the Potions Master.

 

“Kreacher is not breaking and entering into Master Severus Snape’s quarters,” the elf said, bowing low enough to where his gnarled nose pressed hard into the floor.

 

“Is that so?” Snape didn’t quite snarl, however, it caused the elf to shake slightly before becoming erect once more. Snape walked over towards Kreacher, lowering his wand to the lump on the floor to see whom it was that the elf has brought. Probably dead drunk. Severus toed the young man’s hip with the toe of his boot.

 

“Master Regulus is getting into Severus Snape’s quarters with tools, sir,” the elf said in a croaking voice. He tugged on Snape’s pant leg to get the Potion Master’s attention, brandishing a pocketknife.

 

“An old Black trick.” Snape murmured. He did not take the pocketknife even though Kreacher was holding it up to him to inspect or even confiscate. “Why have you brought Regulus here, Kreacher? I’m sure he was not at all the mastermind of this little journey, judging from his current state.”

Kreacher continued to wring his hands, averting Snape’s eyes. “Kreacher is not supposed to say where Master Regulus has gone nor what he has done. Oh, what my Mistress would say if she knew that Kreacher allowed Master Regulus to do something so treacherous.” The elf reached up to his ears, taking both in his hands and crushing them with all his might while shaking his head back and forth, muttering no, no, no, bad Kreacher.

 

Snape knelt down next to Regulus Black, pressing the tip of his wand into the younger man’s temple. “Enneverate.”

 

Snape held his breath, ignoring the groans and whimpers coming from Kreacher off to the side.

 

It took ten minutes and Regulus’s long, dark eyelashes fluttered open. His steel, grey eyes rolled to the back of his head and his jaw went slack as he breathed out, “Water,” in a hoarse, dead voice.

 

Snape ran to his bathroom and filled an empty mason jar with water from the tap. He sat it next to Regulus’s slowly stirring body and walked swiftly to his study, unlocking his cabinets and searched for a Restorative Draught. When he found one, he went back into his rooms, and slid into a sitting position beside his old friend. Regulus had only been able to wrap his fingers around the jar and was unable to bring it to his lips so far.

 

“Can you sit up, Regulus?”

 

Regulus groaned. Kreacher whimpered and flapped over to his master before Snape could do anything. Kreacher roughly yanked Regulus up into a hunched, yet sitting position. Regulus’s head fell onto Snape’s shoulder. Snape did not snarl and recoil from the contact. In fact, how many times had he helped this boy, out of his mind on Firewhiskey or who knows what else, in an attempt to impress all the other Slytherins. This was just the same. Except, Snape wasn’t sure what the younger has gotten into this time.

 

Snape picked up the Mason jar and pressed its rim to Regulus’s lips, tilting it.

 

Regulus’s fingers wrapped around Snape’s own, taking it from him. “Come off it, Sev. I’m no child.” He chuckled, but the sound of it seemed as though it hurt his chest as it turned into a cough.

 

“Slowly,” Severus murmured, watching his friend carefully.

 

Regulus took a large, greedy gulp and spilled jar’s contents. Snape waved his wand to Vanish the spilled water. Instead of filling the jar once more, he handed Regulus the potion.

 

“This will have you right.”

 

“Cheers,” Regulus said, and raised the flask to his lips and took slow, calculated sips until the entirety of the potion was gone.

 

It took the potion less time to bring him back to full consciousness than the spell Snape cast earlier.

 

“Can you stand?” Snape asked after a few more minutes, watching his friend, making sure he wouldn’t have to search for another potion, perhaps an antidote.

 

“I think so.” He tried to push himself up and grimaced at the action. “It’s like I can finally feel all the places I hurt. I don’t suppose you have anything for the pain, eh, Sev?”

 

Snape grasped the younger from under his armpits and hauled him upward in one swift moment before helping him trudge over to an open armchair next to the bedroom’s unlit fireplace. Snape murmured a charm to set it ablaze, warming Regulus.

 

“Do you mind telling me what was going through that naïve, thick skull of yours breaking into here?” Snape snapped once he saw that Regulus was comfortable. “You know how many enemies I have. How many enemies you have. I do trust that you know that your dratted brother—the auror—visits the school from time to time.”

 

“What? Sirius is?” Regulus furrowed his brows, brining his thumb up to his mouth to nimbly chew at the nail there. His dark hair had grown out since Snape had seen him and it fell into his eyes. Regulus pushed it out of his eyes in such a way that was so Sirius Black that Snape could have vomited.

 

“No, your other brother,” Snape rolled his eyes. There was no other brother. “Yes, Sirius.” Snape sniffed at the first name. “Black and Potter have little meetings with Dumbledore quite frequently. And it’s just like old times to run into them again, let me tell you.”

 

“I’m sorry, Severus. At least you don’t see them everyday.” Regulus gave a small, hopeful smile.

 

“Indeed.”

 

There was silence. Even Kreacher had stopped making all kinds of noise. It was a wonder that he was still there at all.

 

“I need your help, Severus.” Regulus finally blurted out from around his thumb. He dropped his hands into his lap. One went into his cloak’s pocket, almost impulsively.

“And all of this was just a nice visit?” Snape drawled, waving his arm towards the corner of his room they were previously huddled in.

 

Regulus scooted to the edge of his seat, grimacing as he did so, resting his elbows at his knees, crossing his arms. “Please, Severus. You’ve always been like a brother to me. You’re my only friend. Well, besides Kreacher,” Regulus let out a short, pathetic chuckle at this admission.

 

Kreacher’s eyes filled up with unshed tears, “Master Regulus is the most noble, the most worthy of all Black descendents.”

 

Regulus held up a hand, “Please, Kreacher. Allow me to speak to Severus. Go to Grimmauld Place. I shall meet you there. No, none of that,” he said when Kreacher’s hard face fell and his mouth opened to protest. “I shall meet you there. Go. Now.”

 

With a tiny pop they were left in silence, sans the thunderstorm that began brewing outside only moments ago. The rain belted against the windows so loudly that Regulus felt himself (who already spoke quietly and softly enough) having to speak louder and strain harder to hear Snape’s responses.

 

“It is about the Dark Lord.” Regulus’s hand went to his covered left forearm.

 

Snape felt himself going to do the same thing before he caught himself and stopped. “Go on,” but Snape lengthened the latter word so long that he was almost purring, like.

 

Regulus scooted further still into his chair. He glanced out the window. A fine mist was building up and there was no light outside. “I don’t know if I’ve made a mistake and I don’t know how long I have. I’ve discovered something about dear, old Tom that he would be loathe anyone know about him. Do you remember how he would give us Legilimency tests? After we’ve practiced?”

 

Snape only nodded. So far as he knew, he—Snape—was the only accomplished Legilimens of the Death Eaters. He had not known that the Dark Lord provided _additional_ private lessons to his peers…

 

“I’m afraid that I was able to tap into an old memory of his. It was tucked so far back. I think he was more focused upon delving into my own, he didn’t notice that I was looking around in _his_ mind. My Occlumency is so strong. It is all too easy to let a Legilimens believe they are doing what they wish with my mind, all the while hiding my own penetration into their minds. At least, that’s how it worked with the Lestranges and Lucius…”

 

Snape had grown impatient. He had no desire to listen to what an accomplished _whatever_ Regulus was, friend or not. “Spit it out, Black.”

 

Regulus looked taken aback by the usage of his surname. “Do you know what Horcruxes are?” Regulus breathed this out in one word.

 

“Of course I do. Don’t you know who you’re talking to?” Snape knew the Death Eaters only wished they had as much knowledge about the Dark Arts as he. Especially with him being younger than the lot of them.

 

“I forget myself, old friend,” Regulus gritted his teeth. “The Dark Lord has created at least one.” This was when Regulus removed his hand from his cloak and dangled a heavy locket with a serpentine ‘S’ carved into it. The chain was wrapped and entwined throughout his fingers, as though afraid that Snape would yank the object from his hand.

 

Snape’s eyes followed the locket’s slight side-to-side sway, as though being hypnotized. “Are you certain, Regulus?”

 

Regulus’s head would not stop bouncing up and down in affirmation. It made him look much younger than his eighteen or nineteen years, despite the gruesome black bags under his eyes and his hollow cheeks on his once handsome face.

 

“May I?” Snape asked.

 

Regulus untwined his hand from the locked and pressed it into Snape’s hand. While Snape inspected the locket, Regulus went into great detail about the Dark Lord’s memory of discovering Horcruxes and how to create them. The memory of the cave and where the Horcrux was hidden. He even told Snape about the imitation locket with the handwritten note he left for Voldemort.

 

“He’ll figure it out soon. I think you can feel something once the Horcrux is removed from its enchanted place of protection. He will come after me soon, Severus. That, or send one of you after me. I must hide this locket until I figure out how to destroy it.” Regulus paused as Snape held out the heavy locket, indicating that he was finished with it. Regulus balled it up into his pocket once more. “I almost wondered if you could brew a Dissolving Draught of some kind. To where it could eat the locket away into nothingness.”

 

“There is far too much Dark Magic involved with the creation of that object that even the strongest of acids I could produce would do nothing to it.”

 

“What do I do, Severus? Please.”

 

“You must go into hiding. You must get far away. Take the locket with you, or hide it somewhere that someone else can find it and destroy it later for you.”

 

“Will you hold onto it for me, Severus. You are the Dark Lord’s favorite, his most trusted.”

 

“What, and have Dumbledore find out I am harboring it? I told you. Aurors come to these grounds far too often. They no doubt have Dark Detectors. They have been to my office more times that I would care to acknowledge.” His voice was bitter, but he really did wish to help his friend, although in a way to save his own skin. “What about your parent’s house?”

 

Regulus muttered something about hating the house as much as Sirius had when they lived there together. “My parents are both dead. It is technically Sirius’s estate now.”

 

“An estate he shall never set foot in. You know how much he loathes it. You just said so yourself. Get that house elf to hide it for you. You won’t be sorry.” Snape was getting impatient and wished that Regulus would just leave.

 

He wished that they hadn’t had this encounter at all. This was information he wished he didn’t have. What if it fell into the wrong hands? What if it fell into the Dark Lord’s hands? Snape was constantly interrogated by all about Regulus’s whereabouts enough as it was. He practiced Occlumency and Legilimency so much it pained him, but he didn’t know how good he would be at altering memories so that this one would be completely untouched by the Dark Lord.

 

“I will check on Kreacher and the locket some time soon,” but Snape was only telling him this to get him out of his office, out of the castle, out of the country.

 

The storm outside had subsided. Regulus looked to the window and took this as his cue to leave.

 

Regulus held out his hand and Snape grasped it. They both squeezed hard. “Thanks, Sev. I’ll write you when I get out of the country.” Regulus threw on his old Invisibility Cloak after giving his old friend one last look of profound thanks and affection.

 

While he told Snape about the secret passageway he came through—one that led into Hogsmeade and would allow him to Apparate—Hermione Granger hastily ripped the pair of Extendable Ears she was using into her cloak pocket and flew to the girls’ bathroom further down the corridor. She locked the door behind her and slid into a sitting position against it. She was panting, but not from the burst of running, and instead from what she just heard.

 

Hermione had been on her way to apologize to Snape for taking his chair during the feast and to explain that it was McGonagall who insisted she sit there next to her. Hermione planned to tell Snape that she was not meaning to start a bloody _war_ over a piece of furniture. Instead, but the time she made it to the door, she had heard strained voices speaking over the storm about Horcruxes, and was immobilized on the spot.

 

Was this enough information to go back to her own time? Could knowing where this one Horcrux came from be enough to figure out where the rest were? Surely not.

 

Hermione waited maybe twenty minutes longer in the bathroom before collecting herself up from the floor, leaving the dungeons, and fleeing to the entrance hall. She barely made it to the staircase before someone grabbed her from behind, wrapping a hand around her mouth and dragging her into the empty staffroom. Her assailant locked and silenced the door.

 

She was let go as she was pushed into an armchair. She lifted her chin to look up at…

 

“ _Harry?_ ” She breathed, taking in the sight before her. A tall, thin, but fit, young man with untidy jet-black hair stared down at her. He was dressed in a black button down shirt and black blazer with too many buttons. He had a cloak on over all of this. Its collar was popped almost impudently. He had an Auror badge pinned on the cloak. He narrowed his eyes from behind his dirty glasses before running a hand through his hair, further mussing it up.

 

The man next to him barked out a laugh. “Hairy? Yes, he is. That mess.” He ran his own hand through his friend’s hair.

 

Hermione looked at the companion, who was so good-looking with nearly shoulder-length black hair tied back in a plait. He was dressed in a beautiful, well-fitted white shirt with a scarlet tie and charcoal waistcoat. His Auror badge was pinned to the area of his waistcoat where a folded handkerchief should have gone. His arms were crossed at his chest and he gave off a haughty, yet slightly amused look.

 

“Dumbledore,” said the good-looking one, “told us to meet you. Said you’d be right useful to the cause. Brain like yours.”

 

“Smarter than Remus, he says you are,” said not-Harry. “I am James Potter—”

 

“Sirius Black,” the companion interjected. “Aurors.”

 

“Members of the Order of the Phoenix.” James finished, looking her over. “Care to join?”


	4. Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hermione finds herself in the Potions Master's rooms well past midnight. Severus has no consideration for personal space.

~~~

 

“What? It’s that simple?” Hermione asked, relaxed now that she knew who these men were. Oh, how they reminded her of Harry and Ron.

 

Sirius shuffled his feet a bit, looking down at them before meeting her amber-brown eyes with his grey. “Not usually. But, I mean. What a better reference than Dumbledore himself?”

 

James nodded, a stern look set about his eyes and jaw. “Please, Miss Granger. You’ve skills most of us wouldn’t even know what to do with. Advanced Arithmancy? And Ancient Runes?” He shook his head incredulously. “Mind, our Defense skills are superb.”

 

“Please don’t flatter yourselves,” Hermione said around a chuckle.

 

Sirius grinned. “I like her already, Prongs.”

 

“What does this-this being in the Order constitute?” Hermione asked, wringing her hands in her lap.

 

James leaned against a nearby table. His hand went to his hair before he stopped himself and let it drop to his side once more. “Information collection, mostly.

 

“Not quite surveillance,” Sirius said, “as much as it is…carefully selected words that inspire other parties to omit—”

 

James waved his hand impatiently. “Padfoot. Please.” Then he said to Hermione. “Basically, we think it would be best that you spy on Sniv—Severus Snape.”

 

“Why? Why me? Why not another member of the Order who is here?”

 

“Surely you don’t mean Dumbledore!” Sirius couldn’t help his raised voice. “He’s got too much going on, doesn’t he? With the Ministry and all his… _Dumbledore_ things.”

 

James was nodding. “Exactly. Snape would know what Dumbledore or someone else was up to. You’re new.”

 

“These are dark times,” Sirius said, becoming interested in his nails. “Sometimes its easier to get closer to someone new. Someone who doesn’t know your past, or judges you because of your past. Blank slate and all that. It’s the familiar that we should all be concerned of.”

 

James rolled his eyes in such a Harry way that Hermione rubbed at her eyes to make sure this was a different man. James murmured something about melodramatics or theatrics to which Sirius grinned, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

 

Hermione didn’t want to tell them that she was already on a mission to spy on Severus Snape, and that she already had information. No, she would collect and keep all information to herself, unless she thought there was anything anyone in this time could do.

 

“We have meetings from time to time, the Order. We can owl you with the next one if you’re interested.” Sirius offered. His loud voice had finally gone down some. He seemed like the kind of man that struggled with indoor voices. In fact, he probably didn’t have one.

 

Hermione told them that sounded lovely and bid them goodnight, only too happy to get out of the staffroom. She waited until they went through the front doors before she turned on her heel and headed once more towards the dungeons.

 

The castle found silence this night. Not even the ghosts were around. She knew it was well past midnight already and that she was going to hate herself in the morning with such a lack of sleep. At the same time, she knew that if she made it upstairs to her rooms that she wouldn’t be able to sleep because she would lay awake, staring up at the ceiling had she not gone back to the dungeons and to Snape. She was going to use the apology she’d planned to give him earlier as an excuse to see him once more. She was curious to see if there was anything else she could unearth from the interaction she overheard.

 

She already found herself at the door of his office and knocking before she could stop herself and give more thought to what she was doing.

 

Nothing.

 

She almost turned to leave, but was rooted on the spot. She knocked a bit harder, louder. She crossed her arms and briskly rubbed her biceps, sighing gently.

 

The door was yanked open. Snape’s pale face was twisted into fury. His black eyes glared down at her, livid. He was still fully dressed, however, his cloak and outer clothes were off. He was clad in a white button-down shirt, still tucked into his trousers, but unbuttoned down to his chest. His shirtsleeves were rolled up to his elbows. He was in his socked feet—perhaps he was getting ready for bed.

 

“Miss _Granger—”_ His mouth didn’t seem to have moved.

 

“Sir, please, I wanted to come say that I’m—” Words had never flown so fast from Hermione’s mouth.

 

Snape held up his palm to her. “There is _nothing_ so important that you could tell me right now that could not wait until morning. Now, if you _please—”_ He began to nudge her out of the door’s threshold so he could close it.

 

But Hermione felt brave. She flattened her hand against his door and pushed it back open.

 

Snape’s face was even more livid. He wrapped his fingers around her slender wrist and pulled her close to him. Had they been the same height, they would have been nose to nose. Instead, he was a head and a half taller than her; she caught an eyeful of his bare chest exposed from his unbuttoned shirt. Apparently, he was pale everywhere else. There was a slight sprinkle of dark hair and she felt herself flush. She inhaled his scent: old books, mint, slight whisky, sweat, and something woodsy or outdoorsy.

 

“ _Look at me,_ ” he demanded.

 

She did.

 

“You have _no_ right, coming down here in the dead of night. You have even _less_ of a right than that pushing your way into my space, Miss Granger.” His eyes appraised her, looked her slowly up and down. He could smell her fear. She was like a student, like a child. He loosened his grip on her. Her skin was burning where he touched.

 

“But I heard—” She was going to completely forego the dinner seating arrangement apology and instead tell him everything about Regulus.

 

He shook her arm as though to silence her. That was then his own arm caught her eye and there it was: his Dark Mark. No more than three or four years old on his tender forearm skin. He caught her looking at it and went to say something or to push her out. Before he could do that, she wretched her arm from his hand, kicked the door shut, and pushed him into the room as he was caught off guard. She pushed him all the way into his desk. His legs buckled and he sat down hard on top of his desk. They were now at eye-level.

 

“You are going to be quiet.” She demanded, fire burning behind her eyes.

 

He scowled at her.

 

She noticed how pleasant his office felt with the fire going. The coziness of the room was the complete antithesis to the dungeons outside of these walls.

 

“I came here to tell you I was sorry for sitting in your _fucking_ chair. Wasn’t my fault. McGonagall asked me to.” She waved her hand. “It is no longer important. I heard your friend telling you about Horcruxes. Voldemort’s Horcruxes.”

 

Snape went to say something like _don’t know what you’re talking about_ before she raised her eyebrow is a sarcastic _oh,_ please let’s _go there_ way.

 

“I have information about Horcruxes in general, and his specifically. I think we could help each other.”

 

“I doubt that very much,” he snarled at her, going to press himself up from his seat.

 

Hermione pressed her small hand onto his kneecap to stop him. He looked down at her hand. She did not remove it as she continued speaking to him, “The Order of the Phoenix wants me to spy on you. You help me with this Horcrux, or any others, that you know of, and I protect you from the Order.”

 

He went to pluck her hand off his knee, his thumb sliding under her fingers, his other fingers resting on the tops of hers. He went to drag her hand away, saying, “I do not need protection from the Order.”

 

“Yes, you do.” She looked down at their fingers and spoke to them. “Those Aurors, Black and Potter, are hasty. There is a good chance they will try to find anything possible to pin on you to put you away in Azkaban. I can’t have that. I need your help.”

 

He brushed her away from his knee and stood up. “I help far too many people, Miss Granger. Most of them are incompetent. How I _hoped_ you’d be different. That you’d stay out of my life. Alas, here you are, calling after me in the dead of night.” He stood and looked down at her. They were still so close and she slyly inhaled his scent once more, pressing it into the furthest reaches of her memories.

 

Nothing too serious about it, she rationalized. It was just one of the most pleasant scents she’d come across.

 

He was showing her to the door, walking closely behind her.

 

“I know you don’t care about him. You feel nothing for him. Not even loyalty. I think you’re scared of him. Of Voldemort. If you could get rid of him somehow, would you? Wouldn’t you like to get out of his ranks? I can help you, Professor. Er, sir. ” Her hand was on the doorknob. How she hoped he would tell her to stay and tell him more.

 

He sighed gently, but said nothing. “Please, Miss Granger. Get out.”

 

Hermione does leave.

 

Snape locked and warded his doors before going back to his fireplace. He gripped the top of the mantle, leaning forward, as though about to plunge himself into the flames. It was more than he deserved, really. Could Granger really help him? He’d been sitting on more information of his own. It was getting harder and harder to hide it from the Dark Lord during Death Eater gatherings. Perhaps Granger could keep his secrets. He needed to tell someone about that prophecy he overheard in the Hog’s Head only weeks ago. She was ideal. She was new.

 

He moved from the fireplace and into his rooms. He threw himself down upon his bed, still dressed. He rubbed his palms together slowly, still feeling where her skin had been only moments ago. He’d never snatched anyone up like that before. It had thrilled him, just as it had thrilled him to pull her close and inhale the scent that wafted up from the top of her mad hair. Old books and lavender…something citric…tea with milk. He pressed a hand onto his flat abdomen and slowly rubbed back and forth, closing his eyes.

 

_Miss Granger, Miss Granger._

 

If he took her up on whatever it was that she was offering, then he would have to teach her Occlumency and Legilimency. They would be flirting with disaster on both sides of this oncoming war. It would be in both of their best interest (mostly his) if they both grew strong at hiding memories of their encounters and shared secrets.

 

He opened his eyes and reached for his bedside table. He pulled the drawer open and found a blank scratch sheet of parchment and a nearby quill. He wrote a simple ‘ _yes_ ’ on it, and then tapped his wand wordlessly onto the paper. It sealed itself. He walked over to the fireplace in his bedroom and tapped the paper again, transfiguring it into a small bird, before sending it into the unlit fireplace where it shot upward and would land in her own, drifting until it found its way onto her desk, or somewhere equally noticeable.

 

Snape dragged himself back to bed after shedding his clothes and didn’t bother with nightclothes or a robe. He slipped in between his cool sheets and smirked at himself as he thought about breakfast next morning.

 

He would have it in his favorite chair.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know whether or not witches and wizards send notes via the fireplace. What I with that is a slight variation of a scene from the third HP film in which Draco passes Harry a note in DADA, where the note is bird-like and flutters across the room.


	5. Socks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Severus and Hermione have another midnight meeting. There is fluff in this chapter. And then angst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout and thanks to those who are reading and keeping up with this story. Shoutout and thanks to those who are leaving kudos, comments, and making bookmarks. It really does make writing that much more pleasurable knowing that I'm not the only one interested in and enjoying this piece. 
> 
> Disclaimer: As always, all recognized things do not belong to me--they belong to J.K. Rowling--and I am making no money off of this.

~~~

 

The paper bird note was already on Hermione’s pillow by the time she made it to her rooms. She smiled broadly, thinking it was a note from her assigned house elf, Tippy. She sat down at the edge of her bed and opened the note.

 

 _Yes._ That was all it read in a meticulous spidery stroke.

She furrowed her brow, but it did not take her very long to figure out whose hand had penned it, or what the yes was referring to. She knew which questions it was answering. She wasn’t sure how to reply to this or send the message on the parchment through the fireplace.

 

Already dead on her feet, this was one of the few times in Hermione Granger’s life that she did not search for the proper book to consult with. Instead, she called out, “Tippy? Are you awake?”

 

There was a tiny pop and her house elf appeared, grinning up at her, her large aquamarine eyes shining brightly. “Tippy is here for whatever Miss Hermione needs!” Tippy squeaked, clasping her hands and letting them hang in her front, swinging them from side to side.

 

“Tippy, how do I send a message through the fireplace like this?” She showed the house elf her parchment.

 

Tippy bounced on her feet. She tugged excitedly at the ends of her floral patterned pillowcase that had been fashioned into a dress. “Tippy knows how to answer Miss Hermione’s question! Miss Professor must walk up to the fireplace and think of who miss wishes to send her bird message to!”

 

“Thank you!” Hermione was pleased and scrambled up from her bed and headed towards the unlit fireplace. She hesitated, “Oh, but, Tippy…”

 

“Yes, miss?”

 

“How do I Transfigure the paper into a bird?”

 

“It is easy, miss! Miss Professor just must tap her wand and tell the parchment to make a bird! _Chartam Avis!_ ” But Tippy already snapped her fingers and the paper turned itself into a bird.

 

“Thank you, Tippy!” Hermione murmured a _finite_ counter-spell to return it back to its original parchment state so that she could write a reply. “Tippy, I appreciate you taking the time from resting to come help me.”

 

Tippy shook her head. “Miss Hermione should not worry about Tippy. Tippy wishes to serve Miss Hermione whenever.”

 

“Tippy, I would like you to think of me as your friend instead of your…boss, or something similar.”

 

Tippy tilted her head to the side. “Miss?”

 

“I can clean and do a lot of things for myself. You do not need to come here every day or every night.”

 

“But Miss Tippy is needing work to do!” Tippy frowned. “Does Miss Hermione wish to have another elf in place of Tippy?”

 

“No! It is nothing you have done, Tippy. You have been absolutely wonderful. I just don’t wish to make you work any harder than you need to.”

 

Tippy was shaking her head. “No, miss. Miss is Tippy’s only witch or wizard that Tippy works for! Tippy does not even work in the kitchens! Mister Dumbledore is a most generous master. He is making sure that house elves assigned to the school’s professors has one apiece only. Us house elfs works are split equally. Tippy is not even having to work in Gryffindor or Slytherin or Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw! Just Miss Hermione!”

 

Hermione’s heart softened. She had no idea. She thought there were not many house elves in the entire school and that they were in charge of doing everything. Perhaps in her day, in the future, the house elves were much shorter staffed.

 

“Thank you for telling me this, Tippy. But since I called you here so late, please feel free to take the day off tomorrow. Or, if you really must do something for me, please take a half day.”

 

“Tippy will do whatever miss wishes,” she curtsied and went away with another tiny pop after she and Hermione said goodnight to one another.

 

Hermione went back to her note from Snape and wrote beneath his words:

 

_My office. Tomorrow night. Same time._

She muttered the spell that Tippy told her, thought about Snape’s office and sent the bird message into the unlit fireplace.

 

She finally lay down in bed, still dressed, and didn’t realize she had fallen asleep until she woke up in the morning.

 

~~~

 

For whatever reason, Hermione struggled with her lesson plans for Defense Against the Dark Arts. She knew that had she been appointed Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, or Muggle Studies that she would be able to have lesson plans written out for the next four or five academic years. She spent a good amount of time relying upon the texts that she knew Harry considered whenever he thought up lessons for their D.A. meetings. It wasn’t that Defense was her worst subject or that she was even poor at it in a practical manner. She just had a massive ball of anxiety in the pit of her stomach whenever she thought about the position, how it was cursed, and about how much Snape wanted the appointment. Perhaps she could say something to him about it later that evening.

 

The day lasted entirely too long, Hermione decided, while she waited for the fourth years to file out of her classroom. She was looking the most forward to her meeting with Snape later into the evening, past midnight. But that wasn’t the only meeting she was curious about.

 

She’d received a less than discreet note from Sirius Black during breakfast in the Great Hall that morning. The owl delivering it was an absolute disaster, completely wrecking the table’s organization before landing upon Sibyll Trelawney’s head, causing the Seer to shriek and flail her way out of the room. Sirius’s note indicated when the next Order meaning was: this coming Sunday at seven in the evening. So, she had a few days to come up with something should they quiz her about anything she may know.

She noticed that Snape eyed the message that the barn owl brought her. She wondered if he perhaps knew what was included in her mail that morning, as she never received anything other than her morning issue of the Daily Prophet.

 

He knew she received nothing but the newspaper everyday, as he asked her for it (while scanning her spot at the table for anything out of the ordinary) when she was finished so that he could work on the crossword puzzle. Sometimes, if the staff table was particularly empty in the mornings as it was wont to be, he would read the puzzles to her in his drawling voice (four seats away) and she would give him missing answers in crisp and clipped tones. Sometimes, this was all the conversation she would have with him for extended hours at a time. Any other time she saw him, he acted as though she weren’t there at all.

 

Mulling over Sirius’s note, she pushed herself away from the table to drop the latest Daily Prophet in front of Snape without having read. He looked up at her, slightly hunched over his plate holding two pieces of untouched toast, and over his coffee. She looked back, trying to hold her face as unreadable as his. Their eyes locked and the anxious ball she usually carried in the pit of her stomach unfurled and warmed. She stepped away before her coming blush crept upon her cheeks. He knew that she received some disconcerting information because he closely watched her countenance and noticed how her eyebrows furrowed. He stared at the crease that dug its way into her flawless forehead.

 

Hermione knew, in turn, that he had been watching her before she ever stood, as they sat so near. He also thought that he was sly and discreet in the moments that he was anything but. She chalked it up to his youth.

 

But then that thought saddened her. He must not have honed most of his spy-worthy skills of stealth and absolute frigidity yet, for the worst in his life was still to come. Not only that, but he hadn’t eaten a bite all morning and instead sipped thoughtfully at his coffee as he shifted his seating position so that he more easily faced her direction of the staff table.

 

Hermione went back to her own dry toast and pumpkin juice. She pulled a Defense book out and read over it some more, preparing more than necessary for the first class of the day.

 

Snape looked down at the crossword puzzle, not really reading any of the clues. He fetched a quill from his bag hanging off the back of his chair and began writing his own words in the blocks. He worked thoughtfully before finishing his second mug of coffee before standing, pushing his chair in, and shouldering his bag.

 

He walked smoothly over to where she sat, towering over her, standing almost too closely before laying the paper back in front of her.

 

“Miss Granger.” He said, his voice deep in his chest, but coming out soft and low. “I am now finished with this. I daresay you haven’t had a chance with it yet. Perhaps you can figure out the puzzles in the back that I cannot comprehend.” He smirked at her when she gave him an incredulous look at that admission. “Good day.”

 

He swept away from her, his black robes billowing behind him, looking like an adolescent bat more than anything else.

 

By now, Hermione was the only professor left at the staff table. Flitwick had been at her right, but he had told her good morning and went on his way before Snape ever stood. She looked at the students at their proper House tables. They were clearing out, as well. It seemed as though no one noticed she and the Potions professor’s exchange.

 

She filled her goblet a second time with pumpkin juice, not intending to drink it, but to spend more time at the table to open the Prophet up to the crossword page.

 

Instead of reading the clues, she looked at the answer boxes:

 

**Y**

**G O T**

**U                   K**

**R E S P O N S E**

**E**

**P**

**[]**

**F**

**C H A N N E L**

**O**

**O P E N**

So, there Hermione was, waiting for her fourth years to leave the classroom while she looked at her copy of the newspaper for the umpteenth time that day. She had not taken a lunch period and instead went to her office for a quick sandwich while she responded to Sirius’s note, accepting his invitation, and then taking it to the Owlery to send it off. She thought the Auror office was the best bet. Were they already using Grimmauld Place as Order Headquarters? She never asked any of them in her time if that had been the case for the first Wizarding War.

 

Once the fourth years were gone, she turned the lights off in the room and headed back to her office. She did not plan on leaving her office or rooms for the rest of the day. She was still exhausted from the previous late night and planned to reward herself with a nap on her couch after grading essays and other homework and classwork assignments.

 

“Just a quick nap,” she told herself firmly, curling up on the couch in front of the fireplace, pulling a thick throw blanket over herself. It was now past nine. Just a lie down for half an hour or so and then more grading…

 

~~~

 

“Miss Granger,” Snape said, after stepping from her office’s fireplace, brushing the front of his trousers off.

 

He walked over to where she lay on the couch. This was the most at peace he’d seen her. He felt, had he been blessed with a sense of pure kindness, he would leave her undisturbed. That he should write her a note, rescheduling. But, no. He had enough of late nights and hoped to not count on anymore anytime soon.

 

He reached down and gently grabbed her shoulder. He did not shake her. Instead, he squeezed tenderly. She was full of sleep warmth, almost feverish. Probably from the so heavy blanket she was under. He pulled it back, hoping the cool air would aid in waking her. She was wearing a plain Muggle t-shirt and pajama bottoms. He noticed that her arms broke out into gooseflesh at contact with the cool air.

“Miss Granger. Get up, or I shall _make_ you get up,” he growled. He squeezed her again, harder but with the tenderness still. He allowed his thumb to stroke the fabric of her shirt, as though this silken caress was an apology for his crassness.

 

Hermione gasped loudly and sat bolt upright in one swift movement. “Professor, sir!” She cried quite coherently for someone who was just in a heavy sleep. She pulled the blanket around her like a cloak.

 

He pulled his hand back as though burned, then slipped both of them into his trouser pockets. He was dressed similarly to last night, except his shirtsleeves were still buttoned at the wrist. His hair was clean. He looked tired and wary at her sudden and loud exclamation.

 

She asked him to sit on the other end of the couch and he did.

 

He sat with a sigh, slumped low into the seat’s cushion, and rested his head into the backrest. “Miss Granger, it would be remiss of me if I did not request that we meet during earlier hours.” He was frowning, but she heard mirth—as well as exhaustion—in his tone.

 

Hermione pulled her legs up into her cushion and sat cross-legged, her back against the armrest on her end of the couch. He saw her little socked feet poking out from her blanket cloak—their colors didn’t match and he gave the slightest, most miniscule of smiles at the corner of his mouth.

 

She answered while watching him use his long, slender fingers to brush away the hair that fell into his face. “I agree.” Her mouth went dry and she waited for him to say something.

 

He did, but not before warding her door with silencing charms and the like. “Tell me what you know about Horcruxes.” His voice had turned slightly dark and demanding. “Insufferable little know-it-all such as yourself must know _everything_ , isn’t that right?”

 

She studied his face. It was guarded, but waiting almost patiently. There was a longing in his black eyes—a longing that betrayed his previous jagged snarky question, in those dark eyes that had softened in her office’s dim light.

 

Hermione swallowed hard and rooted around inside for the bravery that possessed her the previous night in pushing his door open. She launched into a fast, but detailed answer including everything she learned about Horcruxes in the last year and specifically Voldemort’s. She described Tom Riddle’s diary and the ring in vivid detail. Snape kicked off his shoes and shifted in his seat as she continued to speak. He drew his long legs onto the couch, pressing his back into the armrest on his side of the couch, mirroring the position she hadn’t moved out of this entire time. He drew his right leg up, his knee almost pressed into his chest. He stretched his left out, his own socked foot so close to hers.

 

“That means he has three.” Snape said quietly. He was staring at her mismatched socks once more and noticed that his foot moved closer in the time of his listening. They were almost touching, but he did not move. “Including the locket that dear Regulus showed me. I think it was Slytherin’s locket.”

 

“It would make sense. I’m thinking of the importance he ascribed to the ring. Dumbledore told me that—” And there was the sinking feeling in her stomach as the ball of anxiety returned. _Damn._

“Dumbledore _what_?” Snape’s eyes blazed. “Dumbledore’s known about this all along.”

 

“No, he hasn’t, honestly. Well, at least _this_ Dumbledore hasn’t.”

 

He could hear the panic in her voice and he knew that she was onto telling him something she shouldn’t be. “What do you mean _‘this’_ Dumbledore?”

 

Hermione didn’t know what to say or what to do. She was sure she was going to be able to keep her secret a lot longer than this. Maybe she could Obliviate him, or rush to where she hid her Time Turner and go back to before she ever took her nap so that she would know better than to let this slip. She remembered the documents that Dumbledore gave to her before she went back in time. Didn’t one of them indicate that she could tell whomever about her situation if it were necessary? Or was it not _telling_ someone, but _doing_ something to change events if it was necessary? Well, technically, telling Snape about this would change events…

 

Snape watched her closely, very aware of the internal war going on within her mind. “Well?”

 

She finally looked into his dark eyes. The longing and softness were long gone. “I am not from here.”

 

He raised an eyebrow.

 

“I am not from this time, I mean. I’m from almost twenty years into the future.”

 

Snape stood up, his fists clenched at his side. All the warmth he felt from being on her couch was gone. All the hope he had for this meeting, all the hope he was given from her knowledge about Horcruxes was gone. He felt sick, sure that the unspoken potential to help or save he and Regulus was now shot.

 

“He’s sent you back to spy on me because he doesn’t trust me. I should have known.”

 

Hermione expected him to say a lot of this, but this was not it. He so easily accepted her claim of being from the future.

“It isn’t that!” She was pleading at this point. She stood and looked up at him in earnest, to show him the honesty shining in her amber-brown eyes.

 

“Don’t. Lie. To. Me.” He set his jaw hard and stern, all but sneering down at her.

 

“If you think I’m lying, then look inside my mind!” Anger was surging through her now. “Go on!”

 

That reckless courage returned. She grabbed his face in her small hands and pulled him down to her level. If anyone else had been watching, it would have looked as though she were about to pull him into a fierce kiss.

 

He grabbed her face in turn, moving her to him, steeling his gaze and muttering the needed incantation.

 

He saw everything.

 

Her meetings with Dumbledore. The detailed documents the headmaster had given her. Harry and Ron, her old life. Her parents. He saw himself, older, terrorizing her. He pulled back. He was still holding her face; she was not holding his. He looked toward her bookshelves, still holding her.

 

“Harry is James and Lily’s son.” Hermione didn’t know what possessed her to say that.

 

His gaze found hers once more and he dropped his hands and spat, “I know that! I know that they’re married and that they’re going to have the boy! I heard the Prophecy. Whatever else do you think made me come over to work for Dumbledore, you silly girl?” his face was twisted into that old, familiar fury that she was used to since she was a younger girl.

 

She did not apologize. She steeled her jaw and looked up at him defiantly.

 

“I have not told Dumbledore I overheard the Prophecy,” he said this hatefully, but also delicately. “That is what I most wanted to tell you tonight.”

 

“It has everything to do with the Horcruxes,” Hermione breathed, calming down.

 

His shoulders relaxed; he was less rigid. When he spoke, the slight softness returned to his velvet voice, “I figured as such. After speaking with Regulus and thinking more about them, of course.” He paused for a beat. “I told Dumbledore that the Dark Lord was targeting certain families and that I knew Lily Evans would fall onto his list. I went to Dumbledore immediately and begged to have a hand in the Order. I would give him all the information the Dark Lord fed to me. I am now under Dumbledore’s command and service at all times. All for her protection. We have helped her escape the Dark Lord three times.” He rubbed at his temples, violently and groaned. “I know not why I am telling these things to you.”

“People tell the truth at night, when we’re tired, ” Hermione blurted out, recalling old Muggle psychology articles she used to read about in social science magazines during her summer holidays. “It is in our wiring to do so.”

 

And, as though he hadn’t heard her at all, he said, “I must go. It is late.” He slipped his shoes back on and headed for her fireplace.

 

“I can still help you, Severus,” she said, looking at his back. “Please.” _Please. It would help_ me, _too._ “I need you.” She realized how this sounded and sputtered, “I mean, I-I need your help.”

 

Something about her calling after him by his first name froze him.

 

“No, Hermione.” The way her name winded its way out of his lungs and swirled around his tongue and teeth left his lips flushed with an intoxicating _something_ left behind.

 

He turned to face her once more and noticed she had moved closer. He cleared his throat and snapped at her, “You cannot. I knew a long time ago I chose the wrong lot to lay down with and now I must deal with it.”

 

“You made the right decision, coming to Dumbledore,” she said, sternly and hotly. “You are not hopeless and you are not as stuck as you are forcing yourself to believe. Stop being so damn melodramatic.”

 

He shook his head at her before going to grab a pinch of Floo Powder. He stepped into the grate and looked at her sadly. “Pity…when we realize we no longer want the things and situations we have gotten ourselves into. When we no longer want the individuals we surround ourselves with.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made up the charm used to turn the parchment into a paper bird by lazily translating "make bird" into Latin on Google and that is what I got.


	6. Meetings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hermione meets the first Order of the Phoenix. Severus is visited by Lucius and is tasked for a dreadful mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is to introduce Hermione to the Order. More of this meeting will be included in the next chapter. 
> 
> As always, anything recognizable belongs to J.K. Rowling. 
> 
> Thanks so, so much for reading! Kudos and comments are much appreciated!

~~~

 

Hermione ignored Snape so much since their meeting late Thursday night. It wasn’t hard to do. She went about her days like usual, however, she stopped giving him her copies of the Daily Prophet at breakfast and he never asked for them. He would sit in his usual chair, hunched over a book with his nose nearly pressed into it, scribbling away upon its pages. He still drank his usual too-many-mugs of black coffee. He still neglected the toast on his plate.

 

Hermione had been waiting on Sirius’s response to the note that she sent him on Thursday, which already seemed like ages ago. It finally came on Sunday morning. Snape did not look towards her end of the staff table when she received an owl.

 

_Hermione,_

_Be at the Apparation point in Hogsmeade, just beyond the Hog’s Head at half-six tonight. One of ours will meet you there and accompany you to the meeting._

_Looking forward to seeing you,_

_\- S.O.B_

Hermione stuffed the note into her bag, as well as the book on Defense Against the Dark Arts that she checked out from the library, and left the Great Hall. She went to her office and graded papers a little before fit was time to leave.

 

She wasn’t sure what to wear to the meeting. She remembered seeing Order members around Grimmauld Place and the Burrow and they mostly were as casual as could be, unless they were coming from work and were still slightly put together. She decided comfortable Muggle clothes would be fine and opted for a navy button-down shirt with a cream pullover and snug-fit khaki corduroy trousers. She finished showering and was fully dressed promptly at six and made her way to the entrance hall.

 

Supper at the dining hall was going on and she craned her neck to see if any of the professors were missing from the table, wondering if they were in the Order for this war. She didn’t quite take the entire table into view, but she did notice that Snape was missing.

 

She decided to leave the castle, noticing him coming out of the dungeons as she was going to push the front doors open. He stared her down from a distance, unmoving. She walked through the doors and hiked across the grounds and to the small village.

 

She waited at the designated point for the Order member assigned to escort her, assuming it would be James or even another Hogwarts professor that she possibly missed on her way out. She checked her watch more often than she liked, trying to beat down flames of impatience licking at her insides. It was already past the time Sirius told her to be down there. She would not allow a surge of fear to strike her nerves; nothing deadly has happened to the contact, they were probably just lost or lost track of time. Her watch could be several minutes slow. Any number of things could be going on.

 

She paced around in a small circle for a minute and then decided to stare into the nearest shops’ front windows. She lost herself while counting the items on display at Scrivenshaft’s when a timid and slightly strained voiced spoke from behind.

 

“I quite like the eagle feather quill.”

 

She jumped and spun around. Had she been holding something, she would have dropped it or crushed it in her hand with how intensely she reacted.

 

The man jumped slightly, spilling his hot drink out of his Styrofoam cup and onto his wrist. It turned his battered, light brown leather watchband into a darker shade of brown. He wiped the watch’s face onto the side of his shabby trousers, grimacing slightly. He sat his cup down upon a nearby bench, took off his watch, and continued to dry it, this time on his quite worn button-down shirt.

 

“I know a spell,” Hermione offered.

 

“No, I don’t need any help, thanks.” He said this not unkindly, but was clipped. He put the watch back on his right wrist. “I am to escort Hermione?” He held out his hand, “Remus.”

 

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. It was indeed her old professor. His sandy colored hair had less grey in it than she had ever seen. It was slightly shaggier than she remembered, but it suited him all too well. He looked so tired around the eyes. There was a wan smile on his face that didn’t quite reach his eyes, but she was sure that it would have he not been so tired.

 

“That’s me,” she said, taking his hand, shaking it in greeting.

 

“I apologize, but I must ask so I know you are truly yourself. How did the author of the letter you received this morning sign it?” He sounded so very much like the professor she remembered, particularly with the way he asked questions with such openness, kindly wanting her to do well.

 

“Sirius signed it with his initials: S.O.B.”

 

“Correct!” This time, his smile did reach his eyes and she knew in that moment that she would never see him or remember him to look so young ever again. “Thank you. I am to take you via side-along Apparation to our Headquarters.”

 

Hermione literally had to bite her tongue. For if she had not, she would have asked whether or not it was ‘still at Grimmauld Place’.

 

He ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face. A light brown and reddish dusting of hair was sprinkled at his jaws. There were fresh cuts on his left cheek, but they were healing. He squinted his eyes at the setting sun before checking his watch in a weary sort of way that reminded Hermione of the love interests from old Gothic or Romantic novels.

 

“Right.” He offered her his arm and she looped hers through it.

 

They disappeared with a discreet pop and she took in their new surroundings. It was not Grimmauld place. It was a small flat and its entirety was probably the size of Grimmauld Place’s kitchen and drawing room.

 

“This is Sirius and James’s place,” Remus explained. “And mine, too, for a minute until I can get one of my own.”

 

Hermione thought of all the times that Remus had been weary or leery of receiving help from the people who cared about him. She could not imagine Sirius or James wanting to get rid of him and she even had difficulty believing that he would _not_ want to live with his best friends. He’d already lived with them at school for seven years.

 

He looked down at her, as though waiting to be judged. She didn’t. However, she did take into account just how much of a bachelor’s pad the place was: empty Firewhiskey bottles littered bookshelves and tables. Some of the bottles had dead flowers in them, as though the bottles had been the most appropriate vases at some point. Posters of different Quidditch teams and Muggle and Wizarding bands papered the walls more so than the actual wallpaper. There were also pictures of Wanted Dark witches and wizards—not unlike the ones she was used to seeing in the paper and on flyers in front of shops in Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley both in her time and this one.

 

Hermione found rows of photos upon the fireplace mantle of the sitting room. From the content of the photos, it could never be wondered whether or not Sirius Black had four very close friends: photos from school days (when they were tiny and eleven to their graduation day), photos from pub nights and parties, and photos from the Potter-Evans wedding were crammed onto the small space. The familiar photo of James and Lily standing with best man Sirius, handsome as ever, smiled down at her and a wave of melancholy pitted itself into her chest.

 

“Well,” Remus said softly from behind her right shoulder, taking the photos into consideration as though he was seeing them for the first time, as well. “Sirius’s place. James and Lily moved into their house not too long ago. I daresay, though, that James still comes by almost everyday as though it were old times. But now that Lily,” he pointed at Lily in the photo, as though Hermione couldn’t figure out who he was talking about, “is pregnant, James’s visits have lessened.”

 

“I’m sure his best friend doesn’t mind. And in any case, Sirius still has you.”

 

Remus nodded and a sound of something like ‘yes, quite’ caught in his throat before he walked away and into the small kitchenette. “Would you like anything? Tea, perhaps? There’s coffee, as well. Sirius has taken up a fascination with Muggle appliances lately and brought a French press home recently. It would be no trouble to make you something.”

 

His kindness was like a dagger sheathed in her lungs. It really did make it that much worse to know how often and how much he would put himself out for someone just to being them a second of comfort. She couldn’t understand why he found himself so alienated from Wizarding society just because of his lycanthropy. There were so many better things.

 

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

 

He smiled in his tired way and rolled his sleeves up. There were ropes of old and new scars, trailing all the way down to his wrists and disappearing beneath his watchband. “The others are running a bit late. That is expected.” He opened a bag of whole coffee beans and dumped them into the coffee grinder sitting on the counter next to the French press. He pressed the button to start the scathing sound of grinding beans. “Most work for the Ministry and it has been absolute hell over there.” He was not quite shouting, but speaking louder than she was used to hearing. It did not suit him. He was like a different person, all from the change of tone in voice.

 

She watched him pour the now smoothly grinded coffee beans into the beaker-like part of the contraption.

 

“I hope you’re making enough for me,” Sirius said. He was at Hermione’s elbow, digging in his ear with a q-tip and clutching a towel wrapped around his waist. He was dripping shower water all over the hardwood floor. He was grinning wickedly.

 

Remus rolled his eyes as he added the boiling water to the beaker, stirring, and then putting the lid on, setting a timer for a few minutes. “Sirius, you’re getting the place all damp for everyone. We have a guest right now and there will be more. Please go get yourself proper and _behave_.” Remus wagged his index finger at his friend.

 

Sirius, very much like wet a dog, shook his head back and forth, sending water all over them before disappearing once more.

 

“I didn’t think he was already home,” Remus muttered, exasperated. He forgot the coffee and went to casting drying and warming charms on their clothes and the walls and floor. “Git.” He smiled beside himself.

 

When the timer went off, Hermione asked, “Can I do that?” She pointed at the press.

 

He pulled a very amused face, but obliged her whim.

 

“I used to have one of these when I lived with my parents,” she explained, as though it were a perfectly desirable thing to do, plunging the press.

 

“Oh! Yes, I forgot that you are Muggleborn!” Remus slapped a hand on the back of his neck, a blush creeping up and to his cheeks, embarrassed at his outburst. “Forgive me, I don’t mean to act like you’re something exotic meant to be stared at.” He paused for a moment and she wondered if perhaps he was thinking of himself or thinking of times in his life where that was exactly the case. “I just remembered that we don’t really have any Muggleborns in our group yet. Perhaps it will be easy to recruit more people like you.”

 

Hermione knew that she shouldn’t be annoyed with the way that Remus worded his statements; she was glad that he and some of the Order were accepting of her blood status. There definitely was more prejudice about it in 1980 than in her time. And she knew that his intent was nothing but benevolent—he himself was anything but pureblood, anyway.

 

She asked him where the mugs were and served both their coffees. They retired to the sitting room where there weren’t many places to sit. There was an armchair or two and three couches, two quite small and one a bit longer. A large, low oak table was in the middle of the lumpy circle of furniture.

 

“We’re trying to find a better place for Headquarters. Right now, we switch from place to place so that we’re discreet. Dumbledore’s been trying to convince Sirius to use his parents’ old place. Sirius and his younger brother are the only ones left. Well, besides the Death Eater cousins. Too much bad blood. But Sirius is the rightful heir.” Remus sighed. “You probably don’t care to hear about any of this.”

 

“Why don’t you all meet at Hogwarts?” Hermione was thinking about the Room of Requirement and all of their secret D.A. meetings there.

 

Remus’s face was impassible. She couldn’t tell if he thought that was a silly idea or not. Before he could answer her, more people were Apparating into the sitting room or coming in through the fireplace.

 

Two tall and very strapping red headed men brushed themselves free of the soot, wearing identical lopsided and mischievous grins. They were reminiscing loudly about a prank they just pulled on someone called Mulciber at the Ministry.

 

“Fabian! Gideon!” Sirius, now fully dressed in an outfit similar to what she saw him in the other night, hurried into the sitting room and pulled the two men into a bear hug. “How did it go?”

 

“Excellently,” Fabian said briskly, puffing out his chest. “He won’t be able to get the smell out for weeks.”

 

“Non-vanishing Dungbombs,” Gideon added, just as proud as his brother. “Even if he _is_ able to get rid of them, the smell lasts up to a month, at least.”

 

Sirius threw his head back and barked out his gleeful laughter. His hair reached to his shoulder blades in the motion. He wiped a tear from his eyes. “National treasure, the both of you.”

 

Gideon and Fabian grinned at each other sheepishly before sitting down on a loveseat in perfect synchrony. Sirius went over to them, sitting halfway on one of the couch’s armrests.

 

“The Prewett twins,” Remus explained to Hermione. “Troublemakers extraordinaire. Sirius absolutely adores them.”

 

Hermione’s stomach fell. _It took five Death Eaters to kill him and his brother Fabian. They fought like heroes._ She stole a glance in their direction. It was just like watching Fred and George Weasley entertain onlookers. Though they were not identical to Fred and George. Hermione was sure Fabian and Gideon favored their father’s features, but they still looked so much like Molly Weasley.

 

The majority of the room’s new additions were sitting down, chatting animatedly with their old friends. She recognized most of them as younger versions of the people she already knew.

 

“They all have their own little groups,” Remus offered a small smile. “Sometimes, its hard to become engaged. Particularly if you’re prone to shyness.” Remus straightened up and started to point out the people chattering away. “That’s James, of course. You’ve met him.”

 

James Potter was sitting with half his bum on the other armrest at the Prewett twins’ couch, laughing easily at something Sirius said.

 

“Emmeline Vance and Amelia Bones,” he pointed at the dark haired, severe looking witches who were in rapt conversation and sitting in front of the couch, leaning against the twin’s shins. They smiled at each other every now and again, showing a kindness and softness and humor that their cool exteriors did not portray.

 

Remus told Hermione that it was Alastor Moody (still as scarred up and haggard looking as ever) who sat on the edge of the coffee table, talking raptly with Dumbledore, staring up at the older wizard, his legs spread apart, and a hand planted firmly into his thigh.

 

“That’s Marlene McKinnon and James’s wife Lily over there,” Remus pointed at the two who were sharing an armchair, Marlene with her arm around her friend so as to sit comfortably. Marlene was nodding at everything Lily was telling her. Lily had her hand pressed protectively against her belly. Marlene giggled madly at what Lily said, then cooed at her tummy, pressing her own hand against it. Lily took a strand of Marlene’s long, beautiful blonde hair and began braiding it.

 

“The guys. Sturgis Podmore, Caradoc Dearborn, Benjy Fenwick, and Edgar Bones,” Remus pointed them out in order from left to right. They were crammed into the long couch, roaring about Quidditch match scores and lost bets. Galleons exchanged hands with groans of loss or yips of glee. Sturgis set his jaw and muttered something about damn Hufflepuffs as Benjy and Edgar stuffed their ill-gotten gains into their denim jacket pockets.

 

A dark haired man with several day-old stubble crammed himself next to Remus, forcing the latter to edge closer to Hermione. He gave her an apologetic smile before greeting the newcomer.

 

“All right, Frank?” Remus asked.

 

“Aye, thanks Remus. Yourself?” Frank Longbottom grinned, slapping Remus on the back.

 

 _Neville’s dad._ But before Hermione could say anything, Dumbledore had taken center stage of the sitting room, raising one of his hands, palm to them all. His other hand raised his index finger to his closed lips.

 

Much like Hogwarts feasts and assemblies, everyone stilled and silenced themselves once Dumbledore stood to talk. His electric blue gaze swept over the crammed room.

 

“Another night. Another meeting. Here were are, _together_ again.” He smiled at everyone. Everyone looked around at each other, as though taking account of bodies and smiling at who was around. “Those not with us are safe and sound, I assure you. They have other duties and engagements to attend to…Let’s begin.”

 

~~~

 

Snape was leaving the Great Hall after supper that Sunday night and was en route to the dungeons once more to find something to occupy his time. He had no work to grade, no potions to brew, and no detentions to run.

 

“Severus,” Lucius Malfoy said with far too much jocularity. He had been bent over the House hourglasses, examining at the jewels and points each of them held, tutting over the fact that Hufflepuff was ahead of Slytherin. “Perhaps you can rectify this.” He smiled. “Can’t have the bland dunderheads ahead of the purest blood in the school.”

 

Snape stilled and turned around to see his old school mate clad in nothing but the finest robes, his white-blonde hair longer than before and impeccable. His gloved hands were resting over the skull head on a walking stick.

 

“Lucius,” Snape said, bowing his head slightly. “I’ll see what I can do for the House.”

 

“Have you time for a chat, my dear old friend?” Lucius ignored Snape’s reply and cut right to it. “I’m sure you’ve no rugrats running around or needing attending to?” Lucius’s voice was low, like always, a dangerous glint in his eyes.

 

“Of course, my friend,” Snape had to choke the last word out and allowed a smirk to curl at the corner of his mouth.

 

He led Lucius into the dungeons and offered him the best seat into his office when they arrived.

 

Lucius sniffed at the room, glaring at a jar on the edge of Snape’s desk that held an engorged centipede floating in green liquid.

 

Lucius Malfoy sat with a slight sneer, crossing one long elegant leg over the other. He flipped his hair over his shoulder with the back of his hand. “I’ve heard whispers of our slipperiest and youngest brother being sighted in London.”

 

Snape felt his pulse quicken as he cleared his mind. Lucius always was the most dreadful at Legilimency, but Snape wanted to take as many precautions as possible. “Indeed?”

 

“Quite,” Lucius sneered grotesquely at Snape. “The Dark Lord is now aware. He has sent me as messenger to you?”

 

“For what reason if I am permitted to ask?” Snape wanted to know, his mouth going dry.

 

“The Dark Lord believes should dear, dear Regulus be out from hiding that he will seek out a confidant in order to escape the wrath of his brothers and sisters. The Dark Lord believes that you are Regulus’s favorite and shall come to you first.”

 

“It is true that Regulus and I had a very close relationship at Hogwarts, but come now Lucius, that was when we were in school.”

 

Lucius bowed his head in a sardonic manner. “Indeed, Severus. As I stated, I am here as messenger only. The Dark Lord wishes me to relay a task to you about Regulus Black.”

 

“Does he wish for me to alert him of Regulus’s return?”

 

“Hardly. The Dark Lord wishes for you to, ah, kill the traitor. Neglecting service to the Dark Lord and abandoning any post and all responsibilities is most punishable. He may as well as made an attempt on the Dark Lords life with such betrayal and desertion.”

 

Snape said nothing, but raised an eyebrow, indicating that he was waiting for Lucius to continue. When it was clear that Lucius was doing the same, Snape finally spoke, fighting the wavering nerves bundled in his throat. “It shall be an honor to serve our Dark Lord in this matter. You can tell him that yourself, Lucius.”

 

 


	7. Severus Comes Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's meeting with the Order continues. A Masquerade Ball is upon our heroine. Severus chooses to tie himself to Hermione vis-a-vis their secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since it was never clear (at least with what research I’ve put in) what jobs that certain members of the Order had, I went ahead and assigned them. Since Benjy Fenwick mysterious disappeared and was never found, I thought that him working in the Department of Mysteries (as an Unspeakable) seemed appropriate.
> 
>  
> 
>  

~~~

 

Dumbledore listed the items on the agenda, but the major objective was organizing methods in which to recruit new members. Already, too many members had enough responsibilities related to their day jobs and families. Working for the Order was like having a second job and it would be easier to work in shorter shifts if they had more hands on deck.

 

“One of the populations we wish to recruit are Muggleborns,” Dumbledore said, sitting on the other edge of the coffee table. He steepled his fingers under his chin, peering over his half-moon spectacles. Though he was speaking to the entire group, he was looking intently at Hermione. “As of late, Muggles and Muggleborns are being targeted by Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Torturing them has become a sport for the Dark Lord’s disciples. These antics usually end in murder.

 

“I have surmised that it would be prudent to collect more Muggleborns as a means to keep them safe with the slight protection that comes with being a member of the Order. I have also developed plans to persuade them to become affiliated, though not active, with us so that they may retain a certain amount of protection without becoming involved in the war.”

 

Hermione decided to speak because it felt as though all eyes were now turned toward her. “Sir, excuse me. I can’t help but dislike the way you use the term ‘collect’. It ascribes a certain…lack of humanity and autonomy to those of which you are speaking about. As though they were mere items or trophies to obtain. An increased number in your ranks.”

 

Nobody said anything. Emmeline Vance and Amelia Bones shared a look with one another that questioned the young witch’s bravery in challenging Dumbledore. Lily Potter stopped braiding Marlene McKinnon’s hair—she looked absurd with one perfectly braided side and the other completely straight.

 

Dumbledore, like always, was smiling. He removed his hands from their resting position and let them lay upon his cloaked thighs. “Thank you for addressing this, Miss Granger. I trust you understand that I have no malevolent or malicious intentionality behind the words I use to speak. It is important to voice the things we take issue with and the things that unease us or hurt our feelings. After all, silence is consent; inaction is just as guilty. None of us joined the Order because we were content to be complacent about the state of our world.”

 

Sirius cleared his throat and everyone turned their attention to him. “If you want to know who a person truly is, you must look at how they treat their inferiors and not their equals. Hermione is right. When we think about those who are ‘other’ than us, it must not be any different than the way we understand or value ourselves—no one is worth less than anyone else.”

 

Dumbledore tilted his head respectfully at Sirius. “Well said, Mr. Black.” It sounded as though he were addressing an answer the young wizard gave in a class.

 

“No one is less valuable than anyone else…except Death Eaters you mean,” Frank added, wrapping his arms around himself as though hugging himself. He jaw was set in defiance, almost daring anyone in the room to challenge him.

 

“We must not become blinded by hatred and lose sight of our end goals,” Remus offered quietly from beside his familiar. “Despicable as they are, we must never stoop to their level. There would be no difference between us. We do not want to have the same methods as the oppressors.”

 

Frank gave his old friend an incredulous look. “And tenderly care for them until justice is served?”

 

“I believe it is your job, as well as several other Aurors in this room,” Remus looked toward James and Sirius for help, “to _catch_ Dark witches and wizards. Not torture them to death.”

 

“I don’t think Frank’s saying he thinks we should go out vigilante style and murder whichever ones we find walking the streets,” Edgar Bones said from behind the thumbnail he was nibbling thoughtfully at. He pressed his fingers to his lips, drumming them slightly, and mumbled from behind them, his free hand cradling his elbow. “It is obvious their _job_ —their Ministry regulated job—is to catch Dark wizards and bring them to justice. I think Frank’s just wanting to do something a bit more in the meantime while those who _do_ get caught await trial and all that. Assign some kind of alternative punishment prior to trials, or demand faster trials.”

 

“It is not the Ministry’s fault that trials sometimes take ages to come around,” Edgar’s sister Amelia spoke up from near Fabian Prewett’s legs. “Everyone is entitled to a fair and equal trial. We process these cases as fast as we can.” She gave a side-glance to Emmeline Vance for support.

 

Emmeline took over, darling people to challenge what she said next, “If the Aurors took matters into their own hands in any way, regardless of their affiliation here, it would be considered an obstruction of justice _and_ vigilante behavior. They would find themselves awaiting trial, as well.”

 

“Unless you are an Auror,” James said, standing and silencing the room, “you don’t know what its like tracking down Dark wizards.” He glanced down at Sirius and looked at Frank. “Sometimes it takes more hands than you and your partner to apprehend a Death Eater.”

 

Sirius spoke up, “Most of the time, those that we capture are not Death Eaters at all, but are just practicing Dark enough magic that catches our attention. Sometimes when we bring them into interrogation, they have useful information that leads to the tracking and eventual capture of truly dangerous witches and wizards. Sometimes, it doesn’t.”

 

“All this talking in circles is getting us nowhere,” Dumbledore decided. “I feel as though the most important task at hand is to ensure the safety of Muggles and Muggleborns. It will be a bit difficult for the Muggles, as we would be breaking the Statue of Secrecy. It is my assumption that the more Muggleborns and others that we can assemble into our ranks, the better chance that we have to protect our non-magic fellows.”

 

“How does the Order do their recruiting?” Hermione wanted to know. All of the banter about how Aurorhood worked within the Ministry was interesting, but she couldn’t think of a discreet or safe way to contact an entire group of people.

 

“Ordinarily we do research,” Remus answered her, his eyes scanning the room. “Marlene works as a Healer at St. Mungos and she has access to records of patients. These records sometimes hold more detailed and updated information about those living in the Wizarding world. For instance. Here is how we keep track of those who have become the victims of werewolf attacks. I go in and work on recruiting.” He gave a grim, yet wry smile. “Most are uninterested. They don’t think we can offer enough.”

 

No one addressed this. The room was quiet until something else was brought to attention.

 

“I work as an Unspeakable,” Benjy raised his hand, leading all eyes to himself. “I have a pretty decent security clearance and have access to all kinds of things. You wouldn’t believe them, even if I could tell you.” His hair was already graying at the temples and his crowsfeet cut deep into his face. He wore the same kind of lined exhaustion as Remus. “Mainly, I have access to slightly less than interesting documents. I’m able to look at lists of witch and wizard blood-standings to determine which Muggleborns are of age that we can reach out to.”

 

“There are a lot,” Sturgis said, looking intently at Hermione.

 

Hermione’s mug of coffee turned cold too long ago. She sipped at her drink to have something to do with her hands. She grimaced at the taste and temperature. “We need a way to reach out to many at the same time. It should be in a way that is accessible. We don’t want overwhelm them. Now is a frightening time to be a Muggleborn, especially when being approached by those who have a more ‘superior’ blood status. You aren’t sure how people are going to treat you…”

 

Dumbledore’s eyes were twinkling. She seemed to have inspired him. “So, how do we do this?”

 

There was another bout of silence as everyone looked at one another, as though staring into another’s face would bring about the answer. To Hermione, it was like they were all in school again. Most of them weren’t even twenty yet and they may as well have been in seventh year, trying to solve a difficult problem in the classroom.

 

“Might I suggest something sociable?” Dumbledore offered. He reached into his cloak’s pocket and produced a folded up piece of paper. “A ball, perhaps?”

 

There were comical groans from the couch that seated Sturgis and company.

 

Dumbledore tapped the paper he unfolded with his wand. It produced many copies and he passed them around to each of them. It read:

 

 

Join Us for an Evening of Frivolity and Pleasure

At the Hallowe’en Masquerade Ball

Date: 31 October 1980

Time: 22:00-Midnight

Location: TBD

 

 

“Will it be safe?” Hermione asked. _Just a couple of weeks away._ She tried not to acknowledge that this event would be one year to the day that James and Lily would be murdered. She couldn’t handle the thought and she couldn’t even will herself to look over at either of them, as though their fate was entirely her fault.

 

“Only those who RSVP will be given the location and password to get into the ball,” Dumbledore assured her. “We will check those names against the Blood-Status registry. If it looks like far too many purebloods not affiliated with us are registering, we can send them a false password and instead of obtaining admittance to the ball, it will signal to an Auror of their arrival and the intruders, or gatecrashers, will be apprehended.”

 

“If all of us are going, it will be easy to hold down the fort in case a group of people, even Death Eaters, try to overrun us,” Gideon Prewett said, breaking the silence from his end of the room again. His twin brother clapped his back in solidarity.

 

 

~~~

 

Severus Snape spent an entire week worrying about Regulus Black following the meeting he, Snape, had with Lucius’s in his office. He’d kept eyes and ears open for any blasted bird sent along his way to relay a message. Snape hadn’t heard from Regulus since the night that he came to Hogwarts, almost a month ago. He hoped to receive an owl at some point, not giving away Regulus’s location, but instead signifying in some way that he was still alive.

 

The fact that the Dark Lord heard whispers of Regulus's presence in London meant nothing. Though the city was large, he and his legion of Death Eaters would have found him by now. Unless Lucius showing up had been a trap for Snape himself…

 

It had crossed Snape’s mind far too many times that Lucius showing up randomly last Sunday wasn’t so random at all.

 

He worried that Lucius’s presence had been nothing more but a subtle message from the Dark Lord indicating that he knew of Snape’s own betrayal—that of which seeing Regulus again and not alerting the Dark Lord immediately. Regulus could very well already be dead and Snape was being strung along, played with, before one of his brothers or sisters or perhaps the Dark Lord himself came along to kill him.

 

But no, Snape had to remind himself constantly whenever these thoughts penetrated his mind. He’d already proven himself to possess an overabundance of loyalty to the Dark Lord for the services he provided by holing up at Hogwarts to spy on Dumbledore. If the Dark Lord knew that Snape was feigning information and that his loyalties had truly shifted, he would have known by now and Snape would have been dead a long time ago.

 

To make matters worse by adding on extraneous irritations and annoyances to the castle, Potter and Black had been showing up more often.

 

“Overgrown hallway monitors,” Snape grumbled, avoiding them at every given moment.

 

A Muggleborn’s parents had vanished earlier in the week and they stopped by every so often to pull the fourth-year Ravenclaw out of class and question her incessantly. More than once the Aurors interrupted _his_ class, being as disruptive as possible, banging into cauldrons and other materials upon his work desk at the front of the class. What’s more, they seem to have taken a shine to Miss Granger and stayed to have lunch or dinner in the Great Hall with her, crowding the staff table. No doubt she was in cahoots with them.

 

Snape would glower at her in the mornings during breakfast, expecting the two Gryffindor buffoons to join her, but they never came so early. Twice, she caught him staring in her direction. She waved the Daily Prophet at him, as though it was a peace offering. He rolled his eyes before turning them back towards his old Potions text and continued scribbling upon the pages.

 

Hermione observed how ill he looked as of late and couldn’t help but notice that this occurred shortly after their argument. Perhaps he was suffering from a lack of community or friendship. It must be dreadful to be alone in those dungeons with reprimanding and disciplining students during detention being his only interaction with other people.

 

She paced her rooms later that night. She despised conflict—guilt clouded her conscience anytime she thought about Snape and their last meeting. She sat at the foot of her bed and decided to write to him. If anything, she would feel better to get rid of these feelings.

 

_Professor Snape,_

_I know it’s been a while since we talked and I am quite aware that you probably do not wish to hear from me at all. I don’t blame you. I figure that this message is nothing but a way to clear my own mind and hopefully rid myself of my frustrations about the situation. I just wanted to let you know that it was never my intention to lie to you. Well, a lot of people consider withholding or concealing information as a form of lying. I never meant to deceive you in any way is what I mean._

_I would like to see you again._

_There is something I wish to tell you. As you know (and I know you know, how could I not with the way you stare daggers at me every time I receive mail?), I have been absorbed by the Order of the Phoenix. I’ve gathered some information from the most recent meeting and would like to share it with you. What is the catch? I know you’re wondering this by now. I ask of you a favor. One that I think may benefit the both of us._

_I will keep my Floo channel open for you in case you would like to respond to this. As always, same time as usual._

_Yours,_

_Hermione Granger_

She performed the necessary Sealing and Transfiguration charms before taking the bird note to the fireplace and sending it a long.

 

She walked over to the nearest bookshelf and picked up a hefty tome before padding into her office. She stretched out on the couch by the fire and read for the rest of her Sunday.

 

Sleep didn’t come for a long time.

 

~~~

 

Hermione woke with a start in the middle of the night with something fluttered against her nose. She found a paper bird there and unfolded it, reading:

 

_Coming up now._

 

Still sleepy and dazed from her fitful nap, she wrapped her couch’s throw blanket around her shoulders and sat up, watching the fireplace.

 

He stepped out of it moments later. His arms were wrapped around himself. He was not wearing his robes as per usual, but his black button-down is secured all the way to his neck and wrists. The shirt is tucked into his trousers: prim and proper as always. His dark hair was hiding his face, his large hooked nose being the only feature visible from behind and around the raven curtain.

 

“You ought to start being more alert, Miss Granger.” His voice was icy and creeping quietly around the space between them. “You never know when something is waiting to come out of the shadows to surprise you.”

 

She shivered and wrapped the throw blanket tighter around herself. “I hate to say it, but I _have_ hardened in some ways since I was a school girl, you know. I don’t quite jump at shadows.”

 

“I doubt that. You Gryffindor are all the same: so excitable and such bleeding hearts.”

 

“Whatever you must believe.” It was tiring to be insulted for the House she was sorted into; she never said anything about he and his utter Slytherin-ness.

 

“I trust that you reveled in that Order meeting with Black and Potter and the rest of the gang.” He said this in such a snide manner, much like a child who was not invited to a birthday party.

 

“They’re not _all_ awful,” Hermione said, exasperated at the stupid rivalry. However, there were some people in the Order that she wasn’t sure about yet. She wasn’t fond of the little cliques. Remus had been the best towards her. “I happen to think Remus Lupin is of admirable and agreeable character.”

 

“Oh, yes. Spineless Lupin.” Snape drawled, stepping closer to the fire. “How is he these days?”

 

“Kind,” Hermione shrugged. “You know, I bet you’d find that you both have more in common than you think.”

 

Snape rolled his eyes so hard that Hermione wondered if it was painful. “Regardless, I am here to listen to what you have to say.” And he truly was.

 

He was at his wit’s end with Regulus. He thought about talking to her all week. He figured that since he had damning and secret information about _her_ that he had nothing to lose to ask her for help. Yes, he would help her if she helped him with Regulus. and if she wanted to betray him and call him out, he could do the same thing. Essentially, they would be bound to each other by their secrets. Essentially, there was nobody else they could go to besides each other.

 

Hermione saw no point in beating around the bush. It was already so late and tomorrow morning was fast coming. “They wish to recruit Muggleborns as a means to protect them. They are throwing a social event to ease them into the Order or to at least persuade them to allow us to protect them in some way.”

 

“And no doubt control,” Snape mumbled under his breath. He was a firm believer that Dumbledore did not differ much from the Dark Lord, using innocent people as pawns to push his own agenda and get his way.

 

Hermione pretended she hadn’t heard what he said. “Dumbledore is spreading the word about the event. He’s set it up in some kind of Unplottable space.” She told him about RSVPing and the secret location and password. She also mentioned checking names on the Blood-Status Registry.

 

Snape listened with an arched eyebrow, never uncrossing his arms from his chest.

 

“I don’t think it’s the safest way to do this, but I suppose it is the easiest. I’m worried the wrong people are going to hear about this and attempt to get into the party to do a whole lot more than dance.”

 

“You wish me to tell none of the Death Eaters to go. I can’t. I will not stick my neck out for you like that.”

 

“I’m not asking for you to risk or sacrifice your life for me!” Hermione scowled at him. “I wish for you to let me know if you hear about any of them obtaining knowledge about this occurring. That way we may be able to switch locations last minute or call the whole thing off.”

 

“When is this… _party_?”

 

“Next Saturday. I wondered,” she bit her lower lip and looked at him openly, “if you would be able to come. I’m thinking that no matter the precautions we take, the Death Eaters will find a way in. I’m thinking back to the Quidditch World Cup I went to in my fourth year and how they so easily infiltrated an event that was laden with extremely high security.”

 

“I can hardly wait.” Sarcasm dripped off of each hard consonant that he pronounced meticulously, barely moving his mouth as he did so. “And _what_ would I do at this ball? Waltz with you?”

 

“I want you to come tell me, or give a signal, when you think the safety of the event has been breached. I can start evacuating people or tell them to prepare to fight immediately.”

 

He sighed deeply and did not speak for a long time. “If I do this for you…you owe me.”

 

“Anything.”

 

His lips curled up into a smirk. “Later.” He headed towards the fireplace and took a handful of Floo powder. “See you Saturday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Upcoming: The Ball and Regulus Black's return. 
> 
> Comments are appreciated! Please let me know what you think and what is working or not working or what you would like to see happen.


	8. The Quill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Hermione drinks Firewhiskey with Remus. The Masquerade Ball. Death Eaters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I would like to dedicate this chapter to notravenclaw for the awesome comments and feedback that have helped with this story! Thank you for sticking with this story! I hope you enjoy this next chapter!
> 
> ~~~  
> In all my writing, I usually introduce my chapters with poetry, quotes, or song lyrics in order to show what inspired the mood of the chapter. I haven't done it as much with this piece, but the below O'Hara poem is how I feel about my ships in this story, as well as friendships. 
> 
> Disclaimer: As always, anything recognizable belongs to JKR and I am making no money. 
> 
> Comments and opinions are appreciated.

 

“Have you forgotten what we were like then

       when we were still first rate

       and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth

    

       it's no use worrying about Time

       but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves

       and turned some sharp corners

    

       the whole pasture looked like our meal

       we didn't need speedometers

       we could manage cocktails out of ice and water

    

       I wouldn't want to be faster

       or greener than now if you were with me O you

       were the best of all my days”

      
-Frank O’Hara, 'Animals'

~~~~

 

 

There were three more Order of the Phoenix meetings after the initial one Hermione attended. They ended up being a repetition of pretty much everything covered in her first one. More bickering happened; more talking in circles as, Dumbledore put it.

 

Remus certainly had been correct with how cliquey the Order was. She didn’t ever remember it being like this in her time. Probably because there weren’t enough members to do that with; probably because there was a single person that everyone loathed and ganged up against: Severus Sanpe.

 

Whatever the case, the follow-up meetings were still held in Sirius’s flat. Hermione and Remus had managed forge a mutually beneficial arrangement before these meetings. She would come over earlier and help him straighten up the mess that was always left in Sirius’s wake before he tromped off to work. In return, Remus would lend her books from his personal library.

 

Remus would thank her profusely for coming over. He told her it was the same every morning. The morning mess consisted of Sirius muttering apologies from behind a piece of toast hanging out of his mouth. There was always an impressive trail of crumbies that led towards the fireplace. Too, the late night celebrations always left messy dishes and clothes and trash strewn about. Empty beer bottles and cans littered bookshelves; junk was on the large sitting room table.

 

Remus claimed that there wasn’t a spell that worked as well as good old-fashioned elbow grease. Hermione pretended to believe him, glad to have him for company.

 

Hermione would sometimes bring Remus copies of books he requested from the Hogwarts library and she would press them into his arms when she arrived before the couple of hours they had prior to the evening’s meeting. He would then hand her copies of books by his favorite Muggle authors. This evening’s was _Breakfast of Champions_ by an interesting American author called Kurt Vonnegut. She’d frowned in near abhorrence at the pages when she thumbed through, eyeing the little doodles and diagrams.

 

“It’s supposed to be that way. You’ll like it,” he assured her, closing it for her. He lingered behind her elbow.

 

They would talk about literature and other subjects and disciplines that meant a great deal to them. He would show her the new coffee beans he picked up at certain points and grind up the ones she wanted. He always set the timer and he always let her plunge the French press.

 

They would sit on the love seat, legs pulled up into the cushions and crossed under themselves, facing one another. Remus would lament over his friends and how it was difficult to get them to engage in intellectual discourse or other philosophies.

 

When the timer went off, she poured and served their coffees and he led them to a sofa in the sitting room. It was getting dark outside already.

 

“I’m glad you enjoy ‘boring’ things. My friends don’t really fancy these types of conversations. They always say, _‘we aren’t in school anymore, Remus’_ ,” he smiled at her, sipping at his black coffee.

 

She curled her hands around her own scarlet mug. “I know exactly what you mean. The only person I really talk to at Hogwarts is Severus. Not to say that the other professors _aren’t_ brilliant. It’s just—”

 

“Is he nice to you?” It was the first time Remus had ever interrupted her in this time and her own. He looked sincere and concerned; it was almost paternal. He watched her face, watched the way the shadows of the fireplace’s flames danced around and upon her. It was now full-dark outside and they lost all light except the close embers keeping them warm.

 

She was taken aback and nearly insulted, though she knew he probably knew that Severus was not kind at all times.

 

She lowered her mug and let it rest on her knee—they were both pulled up to her chest now. “I mean, we have our rough patches like any friendship. But yes, he is nice to me.” She paused while she sipped from her mug once more. “I know you lot tease him.” She looked into his eyes. “I heard what you used to call him.” She sniffed at the memory of the silly _Snivellus._

 

“I never called him that,” Remus said. He was not defensive and he was not defiant. Ever noble, ever honest.

 

“Did you ask them to stop?” She asked quietly. She used her mug to warm her hands.

 

Remus felt as though the future of their friendship depended upon his next answer. He felt she was going to judge him in some kind of irreversible way. That whatever he said, she wouldn’t be pleased with him.

 

And she would know if he was lying to her. He sipped from his coffee and finally admitted, “No. I did not.”

 

He leaned to the side to place his mug down on the one table in the sitting room. His green jumper rode up and she caught a glimpse of the smooth skin near his hipbone—it looked like something had taken a bite from him there. He hastily adjusted it before returning to his previous position.

 

“I never said anything to them,” he admitted to her, twisting his hands in his lap. “I was always afraid to.”

 

Hermione thought of Severus the other night in her quarters. _Oh, yes. Spineless Lupin…how is he these days?_ She found her voice. “Why didn’t you say anything to them, Remus?”

 

“They were my friends,” he shrugged. “I’d never had any before and I was afraid to lose them. They were there for me in a time when no one else was. They did things for me that I would never be able to repay them for. I guess abusing my Prefect-hood in order to let them do pretty much whatever they wanted was me thanking them in a small way.”

 

“They were cruel to Severus.”

 

“They were to cruel to a lot of people. I conveniently divorced myself from them whenever those things happened. And besides, Severus was no angel, no matter how he may perform for you these days.” His tone was laced with a strange kind of coldness—he seemed so foreign to her in that moment.

 

She didn’t say anything else about the matter. Instead, she asked him why he liked _Breakfast of Champions_ so much.

 

“It reminds me to not take everything (even myself) so seriously. It is absurd. It is bawdy at times, I think. But it’s just a fun read. Poignant, too. American Muggle authors are doing very unique things with their literature right now.”

 

The others arrived in such an abrupt and jarring manner like every other time. Hermione and Remus stayed seated where they were and the others piled in around them. This time, Sirius crammed himself on the armrest next to Hermione. He wiggled his eyebrows at her. She rolled her eyes at his bony hip.

 

~~~

 

Small parties were always held at the end of Order meetings, which explained all the empty Firewhiskey bottles scattered across the sitting room. Most of the Members would return to their families or retire because they had to be up early in the morning for work.

 

Sirius, James, Lily, Marlene, Edgar, Frank and his wife Alice, and Peter Pettigrew (who missed the first couple of meetings that Hermione attended) were usually left behind. They _were_ the young ones, after all. Alice and Lily did not partake in the drinking for the sake of their unborn children.

 

Hermione usually skipped out on the parties that they asked her to stay for. She wasn’t quite so comfortable around everyone yet. And again, the cliquiness.

 

“Maybe you could stay for one drink?” Remus asked hopefully. “I usually head out or go to bed when they start this mess.” He waved his hand in the general direction of the kitchenette where Sirius was playing bartender. “It’d be nice to not be the odd man out. But if you don’t wish to, I understand.”

 

“I don’t know, Remus,” she bit her lip, stealing a weary glance in that direction. “I’m such a homebody.” She felt like it was a lame admission. She didn’t even teach until later in the afternoon. _Severus would be proud of how absolutely UN-Gryffindor-ish I’m being._

 

“Hermione,” he said her name so seriously, in a deep voice that made the hairs on the back of her neck stiffen. She expected him to say something about how she shouldn’t waste her youth by never being reckless. He instead leaned in close, whispering conspiratorially. “You cannot leave me here with them.”

 

Her hand flew up to her mouth to suppress the laugh fighting its way out. “Okay, but just _one drink._ ”

 

He smiled sweetly at her, his forehead relaxing as though he were actually relieved that she chose to stay. He held up his index finger, in agreement with one drink. He led her to the congregation in the kitchenette.

 

“For all my friends!” Sirius shouted. He was passing the glasses around. They were not simple shots, but half full drinking glasses. “We drink to life tonight, like every night. I hope to see all of you tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. If I don’t, I love you all dearly. Especially you, sweet Lily and darling Alice. Where the both of you are eating for two, I’m drinking for two.” He slung back the drinks meant for the two women, in quick succession. Everyone laughed at his clever joke. Hermione and Remus smiled uncomfortably as Sirius handed them their glasses.

 

Hermione stared into her glass as Remus tugged at Sirius’s sleeve, dragging him away for a moment, and muttered into his friend’s ear.

 

“Sirius, you speak as though you are ready to bury one of us at any given moment.”

 

“Moony, I know you know what I mean.” For the first time in a very long time, Sirius had a somber expression on his face. He was frowning in a disappointed way, like he was upset that his friend couldn’t understand him. “We don’t know how long any of us are going to be around. So, eat. Drink. Be merry. For tomorrow, we may die. We really, really may, Remus.” He shook his head before pulling Remus into a tight and intimate hug. “We may not have the time to do all we want to do. To say what we want to say and who we want to say it _to._ ”

 

Remus looked over his friend’s shoulder and at Hermione who was sniffing at her glass and all but gagging after doing so. He laughed.

 

Sirius thought he was laughing at him, so Sirius laughed as well, clapping Remus on the back before moving on to someone else.

 

~~~

 

Hermione stayed for several drinks. By then, most people cleared out. Lily and Alice took their respective (and drunk) husbands home via side-along Apparation. Marlene stayed behind, still chatting amiably with Sirius, both of them sitting on top of the kitchen counters. Peter was passed out in one of the armchairs. Edgar had made it to the bathroom to get sick. He was so sleepy that he lay in the floor and began snoring, half of him in the bathroom, half of him in the hallway.

 

Hermione and Remus were both sitting with their legs tucked under, in front of the now unlit fireplace. They were now sharing the same drinking glass, laughing too hard at nothing and everything. Hermione pried the glass from Remus’s hand, their fingers brushing. He stopped laughing and cleared his throat, almost sobering up. She clutched the glass in her hands and watched him. He tugged at his jumper, making sure it was pulled all the way down. He caught her watching him do this.

 

“There’s nothing wrong with you, Remus,” she whispered.

 

“Thank you,” he pursed his lips, not meeting her eyes.

 

She shrugged and took another drink. “I’m just telling you.”

 

“And I thanked you,” he said a bit too loudly.

 

Sirius and Marlene’s private conversation and obnoxious guffaws of laughter stopped abruptly so they could look at the two sitting on the floor. Even Peter woke up and sat up in his chair to see what was going on, who was having a row.

 

Hermione stood and pinched some Floo powder by the mantle. “I’ll tell you how I like the book.” And she was gone in a green flash.

 

Remus groaned and leaned back until he lay down on the floor, pressing his palms into his eyes.

 

“Smooth,” Sirius jeered, his arm around Marlene who rolled her eyes.

 

~~~

 

Saturday morning and afternoon came and went. She spent most of her free time reading _Breakfast of Champions_. Remus was right. It was ridiculous. That was all she was going to tell him about it.

 

Hermione was told of the ball’s location later that afternoon. She found herself in the cleared out first floor of Flourish and Blotts in Diagon Alley that evening. She thought it was pretty adorable that the ball was being held in a bookshop, but that was just her. She wondered if Remus and Severus thought it was equally neat. Well, she hadn’t seen either of them yet.

 

Not that she was looking for them.

 

She felt more like a chaperone to a child’s dance, really, being there. Dumbledore had divvied up responsibilities and she was to make patrols around the indoor perimeters.

 

A lot of people already showed up, in resplendent robes and beautiful masks. Some were home-made, others were obviously purchased from a store. Some young women’s masks were as bejeweled and lavish as their dress robes. Some were as basic as possible.

Nobody was dancing and everyone was awkwardly standing beside a punch bowl. There was an enchanted record player playing loud music rather than live entertainment.

 

The venue was decked out garishly with paper lights and carved and painted pumpkins. There were skeletons sat up in chairs, staged to look as though they were on a coffee date. Confetti flew in all directions and streamers were thrown over bookshelves and tomes. A concession table held an enormous cauldron filled with punch. Cauldron cakes, pumpkin pasties, and myriad sweets were strewn about on the table.

 

As Hermione went round and round the dimly lit room, she tried to discern who the masked people were and if she could point out anyone from the Order who were there. Most, if not all, of them were supposed to be there. In the end, Dumbledore was the only recognizable one out of the bunch because of his massively distinctive silver hair swept upon his back. His bright purple robes all but glimmered in the dim light and candlelight.

 

Hermione’s own robes were a deep burnt orange color. Her mask was an emerald green with feathers fluffing over an entire side of her face. There wasn’t much glitter—she didn’t care to be cleaning it off of herself for the next while. She hadn’t bothered using any Sleekeazy on her hair and instead let it flow the way it wanted to.

 

“My, my, what a frightful sight,” a low voice murmured in her ear. It was unmistakable, and there was mirth at the end of his words. “Spooky, even.”

 

“Professor,” she rolled her eyes, as she knew that he was talking about her hair.

 

“I hope it was worth it to get this lot together,” he warned her.

 

He watched a few of them standing around and looking at one another. There was low, idle conversation. But for the most part, they looked like they were waiting for something to happen. “They don’t seem to do much, do they?”

 

“Dumbledore’s to give a speech later as a means to rally them,” she defended the ball, even though she didn’t want to.

 

“I’ve come to tell you that there may have been a security breach after all.”

 

“Truly? It hasn’t even started yet,” she hissed at him as though it were his fault.

 

“Indeed. Bellatrix—the lunatic cousin of your precious Sirius Black—and her dratted husband have been set loose by the Dark Lord.” He sniffed from behind a silver mask that covered only his eyes and long nose. “Then again, that could just be talk. Knowing them, I have enough reason to believe they may try something. I’m just telling you.” He turned on his heel and left her, probably to keep watch elsewhere.

 

Hermione went to look for Dumbledore to alert him, as he was the only member of the Order that she recognized. But he was missing, perhaps preparing for the later speech. She slipped her hand into her robes and gripped her wand in a sweaty palm. She felt that she would have to make a decision soon, even though nothing was happening yet. She felt her breath coming and going in shudders.

 

The record changed over to big band and swing—she wasn’t so well versed in music and couldn’t say who was playing. This got some people out on the dance floor and she smiled to herself before continuing on in her search. She decided to step away from her assigned perimeters and went up the few steps that led to the next level of the store that looked down towards the mezzanine that everyone was on.

 

From here, Hermione was able to spot out two red headed men who were the exact height and wearing identical masks and robes, bending over the concession table and examining the sweets. Perfect. She’d alert those guys and get the word going.

 

She went back to the few steps and found someone pulling a book from the shelf, examining it. She smiled to herself, and thinking it was Remus said, “You were wrong about Vonnegut. I don’t care for it much.”

 

The person holding the book tucked it under their arm and turned to look at her. “I don’t think I would care much for having a Vonnegut, as well.” The voice was drawling and bored. The speaker was wearing a solid silver mask, but unlike the ones downstairs, it covered his whole face. The mask had intricate markings and expressions carved into it.

“It sounds unpleasant.”

 

It was now obvious that the speaker was a man. His hair was tied back in a ponytail and he wore gloves.

 

Hermione offered a small smile before heading back down towards the concession table and to the Prewett twins. She pulled them aside and mumbled to them to be on alert and to give a heads up to other Order members they may recognize. She was starting to feel slightly panicked over how unorganized this whole thing was starting to feel.

 

She went back to her assignment of patrolling. More people were dancing and she felt better that they were having a good time, but the anxiety was slow to subside. Perhaps Dumbledore wasn’t going to speak. Perhaps the point was to mingle and have her dance with a Muggleborn and inform them about the Order? Perhaps not at this moment, though—most of the songs now were of the slow variety.

 

She was thinking rapidly, too busy watching everyone in the room, when she nudged into someone standing with their hands clasped behind their back, holding a thin box in one hand.

 

“Pardon me,” she said, mortified. A blush crept up on her cheeks.

 

“It’s no trouble, madam.” The man bowed his head to her. He was clean-shaven and grinning down at her all too openly. He wasn’t in dress robes, but instead a worn gray sweater vest with a white button-down and orange corduroy trousers.

 

At this point, she was sure she wouldn’t go to another masquerade ball. Every man she’s ran into tonight has been odd.

 

“Hermione, its me,” Remus leaned forward, speaking in his same conspiratorial tone. “Remus Lupin?”

 

It tickled her all too much that he used his full name. She bit back a laugh and smiled up at him.

 

“I wanted to apologize for being a prat the other night. You were trying to be nice and I was an arse.” He pressed the box into her hand. “From one friend to another.”

 

She opened it gingerly. It was the quill she was staring at the night they first met. “Oh, thank you, Remus. I can’t wait to use it!” She shrunk it down and slipped it into her robe pocket.

 

“You are very welcome.” But his mind was somewhere else.

 

Remus was thinking about what Sirius told him the other night. About not knowing how much time any of them had left. He took a deep breath and eyed those that were dancing. He looked back at down at her. “Hermione. I know I’m not—”

 

“Yes?”

 

“I just. I—Would you like to dance with me?” He was going to throw up. He added hastily, “Just once.”

 

“I would love to, Remus. Thank you for asking me.”

 

He offered her his arm and let her to the throng of people crowding the floor. Though the song was slow, people were smiling at each other and laughing easily.

 

Remus placed a nervous and gentle hand on her waist and grabbing her other hand. She pressed a small hand on his chest and looked up at him.

 

He chuckled, “I can’t see you properly.”

 

“We’ll just have to dance another time when you can.” She couldn’t believe she was flirting.

 

He nudged himself closer to her. They weren’t quite dancing cheek to cheek, but they were close enough to take in each other’s scents. He was spearmint and outside and like fresh linen. He squeezed her hand gently, daring his thumb to caress her skin. It left a minuscule patch of blazing warmth in its wake.

 

She felt herself flush all too heatedly. She didn’t know quite what she felt for Remus or what he felt for her, but she knew they equally enjoyed one another’s company. Wasn’t that enough? To begin caring for someone?

 

“I know we haven’t known each other for long,” Remus said quietly, looking at her ear instead of into her eyes. “But do you think that you would want—”

 

But before he could get all of that out, Severus Snape came out of nowhere, rushing towards her, grabbing her by the forearm and dragging her away and saying in a slightly panicked tone, “Miss Granger, they are arriving. They had the password. They have silver masks. I am going to flee. Be. Careful.” He looked down at her with his obsidian eyes wide and worried. He gave her one long searching look before he took one long-fingered hand and waved it in front of his face, wiping downward. His mask elongated into something that looked…

 

Into something that looked similar to the man who she spoke to on the stairs.

 

Hermione went back to Remus and clutched at his arm, “Severus says that the security has been compromised. We must start evacuating everyone.”

 

Remus reached up and tore off his mask so as to see properly. Feeling foolish that she hadn’t done it sooner, she followed suit. He looked down at her and opened his mouth and closed it again before taking it off, yelling after Sirius and shouting instructions in code to Order members.

 

Hermione went to look for the Prewett twins thinking they would be in their previous and nearby space, but after several minutes, she couldn’t find them. By now, it was clear that members of the Order had evacuated most people they were trying to enlist or protect. She found a lone partygoer and grabbed their hand, running with them to the nearest exit.

 

Only when the room was nearing the point of being cleared out did an insane cackle come from the upper floor. The owner of the laugh was a young, pale woman with wild black hair. She was tall and beautiful, but in a deranged way. Her eyes were blackened, but bright.

 

“But where have all the widdle mudbloods gone? Nobody could wait for Bella to show up fashionably late?” The woman all but wailed, sneering into the now dark room. Someone had put out all the candles. “Darling, make them come out and play,” she spoke to her companion.

 

“Now, now, Bella,” a deep voice rumbled. “You must be patient, my love. Seeking out the cowardly, hiding sacks of scum is part of the fun.”

 

“Oh, Dolph, you know patience has never been my strong suit.” She lifted herself above the upper floor’s railing and heaved herself over, landing below on her hands and feet, much like a cat. “It I can’t get a mudblood, then a blood traitor will do.”

 

Her husband followed her, but with much less bravado. They were joined by the masked and gloved man Hermione spoke to earlier.

 

“They got them out in time,” a fourth masked individual was saying.

 

“Yes, we are quite aware of that, Yaxley,” Lucius Malfoy snapped.

 

“Well, you were here first, why didn’t you act, Lucius?” Yaxley stepped forward, wanting to know.

 

Lucius drew his cane and used the its skull to rap smartly on Yaxley’s head. “Do not question me, Initiate.” Then he bellowed, “Nott!”

 

Nott came whipping around a near corner, panting. “I got me a nice couple. They were off snogging in a dark corner.” His grin was disgusting and he smelled of dank sweat.

 

Fabian and Gideon Prewett busted back into the room in search for anyone who was left behind during the evacuation. They faltered when they found the dead Muggleborn couple in the corner near the concession table.

 

“Too late,” Fabian said unnecessarily.

 

Gideon swore.

 

“It’s too late for you mudblood lovers, as well,” Bellatrix breathed heavily, her curls in her face, a deviant grin twisting its way across her mouth.

 

Side by side, they raised their wands in response.

 

From behind Bella, the four other Death Eaters stepped out of the shadows.

 

“The others will come,” Fabian told his brother, licking his lips.

 

Gideon nodded, gripping his wand that slipped in his hand. “Once the others are taken to safety.”

 

 

 


End file.
